


Break Me: ASL

by facade



Series: The Shards of Us [3]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Adultery, Alcohol Abuse, F/M, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Originally Completed: 2014-03-2013, Originally Posted: 2013-08-11, Promiscuity, Psychological Trauma, Recovery: Suicide Attempt, Reposted Work, Slight Polygamy, Strong Religious References, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-06 05:20:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 79,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1845781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facade/pseuds/facade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong></strong><br/><em>“The hardest thing about the road not taken is that you never know where it might have led.”</em><br/><br/><strong></strong><br/><em>― Lisa Wingate, A Month of Summer</em><br/>I think I'm going to write three or four alternate endings for this, chapters to be marked with AE before the title. So if you see that it has more than the thirty original chapters, it's because I included the alternate endings, not because the fiction was extended <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Makes A Saint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tenshi_who](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenshi_who/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Break Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1839811) by [facade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/facade/pseuds/facade). 



“Alright everybody! That is a wrap! Good work today, Casillas!”

Iker let out a long sigh of relief as the sounds of dismissal reached his ears; he had been on the set of that damned Head & Shoulders shoot since he had left Cris’ house around lunch time and it was already creeping on the ten o’clock evening hour. He was spent and grateful that he had been snacking while shooting as he didn’t think he had the energy left to chew anything if he had been hungry. It was one thing to be busy on the set but he had spent a majority of his time sitting in a chair prepping himself for a ten second cameo; that was more exhausting than any training session he had ever endured and had drained him completely.

Iker lazily strolled towards his dressing room to slip into some of his street clothes, trying to figure out what he was going to do after he left this place. In truth he didn’t mind the stress of the photo shoot. It was a constructive use of his time and formed to be another distraction from the hell he had learned to call life, the length of this ‘positive stressor’ was what was so unbearable. Eight hours for five seconds of film seemed a bit ridiculous though, Iker had always thought at these things. He picked up his phone and thought long and hard about calling his agent before eventually deciding against it due to the headache it would surely bring him. Besides, he didn’t want to ruin any other chances like these. With the recent exception of Cris, he didn’t have much that helped him escape from all of the problems that seemed to be looming outside of the studio doors waiting to engulf him the moment he stepped outside. Sergio and Fernando had whatever they had going on, threatening the mentality of the national team, and then there was the situation with Cris…

Iker smiled to himself at the mere thought of the Portuguese man. It was strange how easily Cris, the one he was with the night before, the one he saw at lunch that day, could make him feel better about the terrible that had happened to Cris. It was training days that seemed to revitalize that the red locker room, not Cris. Iker finished dressing with a smile on his face and waved goodbye to everyone else who remained in the studio.

The smile faded as he made his way out the doors and turned into a sigh of relief. Iker practically threw himself inside of his car on sight, desperate to get away from the studio’s cameras and staff, desperate to sink into the soft, clutches of a sheet and a comforter. He just wanted to go home and surrender himself to the tiredness of the day, the tiredness he had acquired over the past four days. When had his life become so exhausting?

Iker quickly slammed on his brakes and came to a screeching halt at the intersection as the light shifted quickly from green to red. “Motherfucker! Why?” He glanced around, grateful that there was nobody around who would’ve suffered should he have caught on to the change a little too slowly. He had zoned out when his subconscious [fortunately] had shoved him back to reality just in time to see the sudden switch from red to green – no yellow. Iker shook his head and glared at the intersection before shifting his sights just beyond it. If he went straight, he would soon find himself at home walking through the front door, falling into his bed, succumbing to the drowsiness that was creeping up on him. He then looked right…

_He’s fine and you’re exhausted, he’ll understand. Home, that’s where you need to go._

So Iker went straight and found himself at home, but not the one with the bed fitted with sheets and plush comforters. No, instead he found himself shifting into park just outside of the Ciudad. He didn’t know what had compelled him to come here but here he was just staring at the building before him. It was strange, the amount of feeling he had when he looked at this place – too many strong ones for him to rationally put into words, though nostalgia came as a pretty close alternative. He loved the Ciudad as much as he loved the Bernabeau, it was where he began, his start.

A smile warmed over his face as he remembered playing there with the Castilla, he remembered standing at the end of that pitch waiting for something to be thrown his way. He was so young then, so ambitious… He wanted to be the greatest keeper in the world then – not much had changed. The stadium seemed to grow with him, though, and began to take form as something of a church as he progressed to play for the first team. He studied his religion, his football, within its walls; prepared himself mentally and physically for any tests of faith some rival forward would shoot his way. It was where he thoroughly studied the art of saving the things that had no intention of being saved.

He felt a sharp pain spread throughout his stomach when he was realized that he was looking at the same stadium, the same facility that protected the red locker room deep within its exterior. How could a place so meaningful and holy to him, a stadium holding so many pure and innocent memories, be holding a secret as grave and dark as what had happened to Cris? Who had happened to him? It was nearly killing him and he had only heard of the atrocity, watched as the consequences of it had unfolded before his very eyes. How something once so unadulterated could be protecting something so immoral was beyond him. _Even God had demanded the blood of an innocent at one point_ , he supposed.

Iker snapped out of his thoughts as he caught sight of another car in the parking lot in his rearview. He hadn’t noticed it before as it had been parked in the shadows but, as he strained his eyes against the darkness, he quickly recognized that he hadn’t been the only one who had come to the Ciudad for answers, though their reasons were probably miles apart. The Spanish keeper cautiously stepped out of his car and quietly made his way towards the black Lamborghini. His breathing shifted from sympathetic to panicked when he realized that Cris wasn’t in there. _Where could he…?_ Iker shook his head in disbelief and turned, walking tentatively towards the church of his religion, towards the stadium that held all the answers it would never share. He stopped for a second and simply stared at the door before he reached out and pulled on the handle; surprised to find the door unlocked – Ivan never forgot to lock the door? – as the door swung open. He made his way down the hallway with a sudden sense of urgency. Why wasn’t he at home? Why would he come here of all places?

Iker became immobilized as he soon found himself standing in front of the locker room, paralyzed by the memories. Flashbacks of four days ago encroached upon his mind, draining him all over again. He had to do this, though. He knew he would have to push through them though, just in case he was in there. In case Cris was in there – again. Iker mustered up every microfiber of his resolve and shoved the door open and found himself greeted by thick steam. He could hear the water collapsing against the tile, an obvious indication that the showers were running. Iker frantically glanced around the room and could suppress his gasp as he saw the shattered fragments of broken mirrors, every last one of them had been struck and crushed but not by an object; there were traces of blood within the cracks, dripping down the imperfections of the glass. The soap dispensers just beside them had been emptied and left open, though Iker couldn’t find what was supposed to have been within them anywhere else in the room.

Iker choked on the thick air and quickly made his way towards the running showers and practically threw himself around the corner of the separator. For the first time in the past four days he preferred the painstaking memory of that red locker room. There wasn’t blood everywhere but there was blood, seeping out heavily from Cristiano’s wrists turning to pink as it mixed with the water. Beside him were the bags of the soap dispenser and Iker knew instantly that Cristiano had been trying to rid himself of that filthy feeling.

“Iker, please.” Cristiano had lethargically turned his head towards the keeper and his pale face finally broke with emotion as rivers of tears poured out from his eyes. Cristiano weakly rocked his head back and forth, back and forth along the tiled walls of the shower as he spoke, words weak against the sounds of the downpour of the showers’ waters. “Please don’t. Please, Iker!”

> _"Cris! Did you do this to yourself?"_
> 
> _…Iker pulled Cristiano into a warm embrace and negligently assured him that he would keep this between them if that's what Cris wanted._

Iker quickly shook off the memory. No, not this time. Not today. He sprung into life without saying a single word. He didn’t pull out his phone, not this time. He didn’t run straight over to Cris, not this time. Without a second thought, he pulled down the fire alarm, sending the loud beeps and bright flashes throughout the facility. He quickly found and slammed down the big blue medical alert button causing it to emit a blue flash off of the white tiled walls. His eyes scoured the room trying to locate the first aid kit, quickly finding it just beside Diego’s locker. He threw out all of the needles and the band aids. Band-Aids weren’t going to cover this, no, he needed the gauze for this.

Cris wasn’t crumbled helplessly in the corner this time; he was sitting underneath the stream of a piping hot shower fully dressed, steam coming off of the skin that was still exposed, body made limp by the amount of blood loss he had undergone. His head was thrown back and his eyes were cast towards the heavens. As Iker hurriedly shut off the water, he caught a glimpse of the Portuguese man’s eyes but had quickly averted his attention to wrap the other man’s bleeding wrists with the gauze. As Iker applied all of the pressure of his being onto those wrists, he thought back to those eye, they were empty and hollow. Cris seemed to be gone, mentally and spiritually. He was barely there physically and Iker felt as if he was grasping desperately at his fingertips to make sure he stayed. Iker tightly closed his eyes as he applied a bit more pressure onto the younger man’s wrists. His whole body was shaking due to the severity of the compressions he was exerting but he didn’t care, he wasn’t about to let Cris go. He was saving this one.

“N-n-no. P-p-please don’t. Stop. Stop. Please.” Cris muttered hazily.

Iker sighed and frantically shook his head, holding on to Cristiano’s wrists a little bit tighter.

> _“No, please. Stop it. You’re hurting me.”_

_"Please, stop. It hurts, you're hurting me."_

Iker quickly opened his eyes and looked at the man before him, mystified by what he was hearing. It took him a little while but he soon realized that Cris was in the room, he just wasn’t in this room with him, not in this time. Iker slowly pulled his gaze down to the wrists he was clenching within his hands, now wrapped in what was now red gauze. No, Cris was in the locker room but it was four days ago and he was with him.

> _The man was using Cristiano’s wrists as a sort of leverage to pull on forcing his way deeper into him. Cristiano screamed until he was sure they could hear him in England, in the United States, until he was sure he would faint from a lack of oxygen, he screamed._

_“Help me.”_

Iker sighed in relief as he heard the doors of the locker room burst open as medics, police officers, and firefighters rushed in shouting in urgency. The medics shoved Iker aside as they placed Cristiano at the mercy of their expert care. The police rushed in and, after seeing what was before them, they had told Iker that he had done well just before demanding that this be kept confidential until the proper people were informed. The firefighters had already spread throughout the building and had already come back empty handed. They saw the scene before them but opted for safety first and asked Iker if there was a fire.

“It’s in there somewhere,” Iker replied distantly as the paramedics lifted Cristiano off of the floor and onto the stretcher. “It’s buried deep in there. I just, I just have to find it but I will. I just need to create another spark.”

 

 


	2. Saint Jude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Cristiano stirred at the contact, groggy from the pain medications the doctors had slipped into his IV. His vision was blurry and he wasn’t very sure of what was going on. He looked down at where the older man was sitting at his bedside. “Iker? What are you…I knew it. I knew you were a Saint.”_

Iker had been pacing around the waiting room for the past hour and a half doing just that – waiting. He hated waiting, he was never any good at it. He could probably pull up hours of film with images of himself on the bench for the season – waiting – and could easily prove that he sucked at it. He had to be in there, he had to be with Cristiano. He had to make sure he would pull through. Where was he, though? He was stuck out here – waiting. He had already tried convincing the woman behind the receptionist desk that he was Cristiano’s brother: ‘he had actually been born in Portugal but had been raised in Spain due to adoption’ *insert pathetic smile here*. He had tried in spite of her excessive [yet flattering] Real Madrid decorations and in spite of her “I know you’re Iker Casillas and he’s Cristiano Ronaldo” facial expression. When that had failed he had gone incredibly low and found himself resorted to bribery – ten autographs later he was still pacing in the lobby.

In spite of police orders demanding confidentiality, the media had already gotten a hold of Cris’ suicide attempt and they were blasting it on nearly every channel. The woman behind the counter had decently shut it off before Iker had even asked her to, giving him a sympathetic smile as she did. Security had arrived quickly after the story broke and the hospital suddenly had a reason to form a room for screening actual emergencies in an attempt to weed out all of the journalists. Iker was convinced that the media was just as soulless as they were misguided.

Iker’s groan of discontent quickly transformed into a sigh of relief as he made out a familiar face approaching him. Just what he needed, somebody here telling him that everything would be alright, somebody here to tell him that Cristiano was strong enough to pull through this. He smiled appreciatively as he jogged up to the Sevillan and pulled him in for an extremely tight hug, Iker had even thought he had heard Sergio’s ribcage cracking ‘good thing we’re in a hospital.’ When Iker finally broke the hug and pulled away from the defender, he could easily see that the other man’s eyes were bloodshot though he felt as if their color had more to do with tears than they did with the smell of – vodka? Fortunately, he could sense that Sergio had only been drinking just long enough to be sobered up by a crisis. Iker could’ve sworn that he had never seen Sergio look so scared in his life; if he needed reassurance he knew then he had better seek solace elsewhere. “I’m sure he’s going to be just fine, Sergio.” Though Iker wasn’t sure if he was saying that for the Sevillan or in an attempt to convince himself.

“I swear you had better let me in there or I will create a fucking medical emergency to get in there. Who wants to get their legs broken? You?” Pepe’s voice echoed loudly off of the walls of the nearly empty private waiting room. Iker and Sergio couldn’t help but release a strangled laugh as the other defender’s threats reached their ears, both mumbling something about the Portuguese man’s temper. All he had to tell the guards was that he was ‘with the team’ in order to get into the building. That was all Sergio had to say, it wasn’t as if they were difficult to recognize in the area.

“Mr. Iker Aviero? The doctors have finished with Cristiano. You may go up to see your brother now.” Iker quickly spun around to eagerly face the beaming woman who still sat behind the desk giving him a wink of encouragement. God bless her. “The rest of you will have to wait until his condition stabilizes a bit. They’re only permitting family at the moment.”

Pepe went to ask why Iker was allowed to go up then but had been quickly silenced by the palm of Sergio’s hand greeting the back of his head. With an “oh” Iker received an understanding glance from Pepe and a nod of encouragement for Sergio. They both offered the older Spaniard simple words like ‘don’t forget about us’, ‘keep us updated’, ‘we’re here if you need us’ just before Iker gave them a nod of finality and followed the nurse to the private elevators. He watched nervously as she punched in the code and tapped his fingers against his thigh in anticipation. He felt his heart stop and his stomach twist as he heard the dinging noise announce the elevators arrival. “So it will just…?”

“It will open up directly onto his floor. There will be a nurse’s desk and there will be two sets doors. The double doors will lead you into the public ICU’s but the solitary door is his room. You should be able to go right in, dear.” The nurse gave Iker another small smile and a reassuring pat on the back. “He’s alive, love. That’s always a good thing, right?”

Iker turned towards her, thanking her for everything with a hug, and stepped into the elevator. It was the longest ten second ride of his life though he didn’t feel mentally nor emotionally prepared when the elevator dinged, assuring him that he had arrived on Cristiano’s floor. He stood there, staring at the nursing station for a few moments, working up the will power to step off of the lift.  _‘You can do this, Iker.’_ Iker glanced around the floor nervously, finding everything the way the nurse had assured him it would be. The two doors and then the solitary one – Cristiano’s door. He drew in a large breath of the sterile hospital air and forced his way through it, sighing as he was greeted by the steady beeping noises of all of the monitors they had attached to the forward.

“Ah, Mr. Aviero.” The doctor spoke as soon as he heard the door click to a close, his back turned away from Iker as his attention was on Cristiano while he was speaking. “Your brother should be just…” The doctor turned towards the visitor and had furrowed his brow as he caught sight of Iker standing awkwardly in the doorway. He gave the keeper a knowing smile but continued speaking anyway. “Your ‘brother’ should be just fine. He had lost a lot of blood but, fortunately, the transfusion went rather smoothly. We actually had his blood type on file, he had donated so often, so that helped us restore him to full consciousness as quickly as possible. We decided to keep him under a bit, help deal with the pain, though it should be wearing off soon. As soon as he has gained consciousness again he may be a bit woozy, so try to take it easy on him. Let’s avoid the ‘why’s’ and the ‘what were you thinking’s’ for now, huh?”

Iker smiled up at the doctor and nodded his head in compliance. “That will not be a problem doctor. Thank you, for everything. He means, this means a lot to me.” Iker’s voice was quiet but his words were strong and the doctor met them with small smile.

The doctor performed a few more tests and checked Cristiano’s blood pressure just before he left the room, closing the door behind him, leaving Iker to the soothing and steady beeping sounds of the monitors. Any other day he would’ve immediately silenced them, any other day they would’ve made him pull his hair out. Today he needed to hear that steady beep, beep, beep. Today he needed to hear the sound of the oxygen being pumped out of a machine and into the person lying on the bed, today he needed to hear all of the indications that Cris was alive, and that Cristiano’s heart was still beating – his heart was still beating.

Iker nervously glanced around the room and sighed as he found a chair leaned up against the wall. Not having taken his eyes off of Cristiano once, Iker shoved the chair just beside the bed, and cautiously slid down in it as he slowly reached out to grab the hand of the Portuguese. His fingertips were brushing against the sheets when he halted his movement. He felt his breath hitch as he saw the bandaging wrapped tightly around Cristiano’s wrists; they had been wrapped in the same fashion that Cris had always wrapped them in just before a game – you couldn’t even tell that he had tried to free himself of this world through them.

Iker glanced up at the closed eyes of the winger but found his hand sliding forward to gently grab at the wrist of the younger man that was resting closest to him. He stared at those close eyes, those beautiful eyelashes, tracing his thumb against the bandaged underside. He had been there to hold it back, to force Cris’ soul and spirit to stay. He wanted to make sure Cristiano’s subconscious knew he was still there, just in case it had any ideas of making a quick getaway in the night. Iker sighed a bit more to himself, not liking the sight of the Portuguese forward’s eyes closed and hating every second that he passed without a flutter of them opening; soon, though, he found himself thanking a higher power that he wasn’t looking at those closed eyes while standing over a casket. Iker gently pressed his forehead against the muscular thigh of the younger man and sniffled as a single tear made its way down his cheek.

Cristiano stirred at the contact, groggy from the pain medications the doctors had slipped into his IV. His vision was blurry and he wasn’t very sure of what was going on. He looked down at where the older man was sitting at his bedside. “Iker? What are you…I knew it. I knew you were a Saint.”

Iker furrowed his brow in a bit of momentary confusion. Cristiano’s look was a soft one, his voice was just above a whisper, and why was he…? Iker shook his head in denial as the realization dawned on him. Cristiano was here, with him, but he seemed to think that he was dead. Iker glanced over at the morphine drip and came to the conclusion that Cristiano was probably too high on the pain medications to realize that he was still here, still with him. He shook his head forlornly as he looked up to meet the eyes of the Portuguese man. Only he wasn’t met with Cristiano’s eyes. Sure, they were physically his but that wasn’t his spirit…

Iker had always been told that the eyes were the windows of the soul but now…? When he had held Cristiano’s wrists in the locker room, he was keeping his soul from escaping his body and his eyes had already been greeted with darkness and emptiness. Iker knew that he had been holding onto something, anchoring something right there with him – Cristiano’s soul. It was his spirit that had left his body, long before Iker had arrived. It was his spirit that had left a black hole in its place – hollow voids and nothingness. Iker had seen sparks and a fire in those eyes, just the night before, had witnessed a rekindling of Cristiano’s spirit. Now he was looking at the hollow emptiness created by a departed spirit, the same emptiness from the locker room. If the eyes are the windows of the soul, they were merely showing you the spirit within, and Cristiano’s… Cristiano’s was gone.

“Yeah,” Iker finally replied, reaching up to gently touch Cristiano’s face. Choosing now was not the time to tell him that he had gone to neither heaven nor hell, he continued, “but I think God would rather you refer to me as Saint Jude. Don’t you worry though, Cristiano. I’m going to take care of you, I’m going to help you find your way. You’ll only be lost for a little while.”

* * *

 

> “O most holy apostle, St. Jude, faithful servant and friend of Jesus -- People honor and invoke you universally, as the patron of hopeless cases, of things almost despaired of. Pray for me, for I am so helpless and alone. Please help to bring me visible and speedy assistance. Come to my assistance in this great need that I may receive the consolation and help of heaven in all my necessities, tribulations, and sufferings, particularly a rekindling of my spirit and that I may praise God with you always. I promise, O blessed St. Jude, to be ever mindful of this great favor, to always honor you as my special and powerful patron, and to gratefully encourage devotion to you by publishing this request. Amen.”

 

 


	3. Angels of Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I know why you were there that day. I thought I had control over everything, over my life. So God sent you, my Angel of Clarity, to show me that I had control over nothing. That He had control over everything. It’ll be okay, though, Sergio. I blame neither your soul nor your spirit for what had happened to me. You were possessed by God’s Holy Spirit; you and I were both the same, pawns in another life lesson. If anything, I should apologize to you. Maybe if I hadn’t been so haughty, maybe then He wouldn’t have used you to get through to me in the way that He did. I just couldn’t accept it though, could I? I sure showed him…” Cristiano lowered his voice to a whisper, “he sure showed me.”_

Cristiano groaned as his eyes slowly drifted open allowing the white light to come flooding in. Everything was hazy around him, though as time passed he found himself capable of making out the definition in some aspects of his environment. It was close to what he had always dreamed it to be: white walls, white floors, white sheets of satin, angels clad in all white robes floating around just beyond the white walls of his white room. Even the empty spaces in between seemed to be filled with bright, white light. He looked around to his right, his left, all he could see was white. He had felt a pressure against his thigh, one that had stirred him from his slumber, so he glanced down and allowed his eyes to fall on the only thing – the only other life-force – that sat with him within the midst of his blurry white haze.

_‘Why am I here?’_ He found himself wanting to ask. _‘I thought I was supposed to burn in a fire of torment and anguish for taking what wasn’t mine to take? I thought I was supposed to be punished for forsaking God?’_ Cristiano couldn’t find the words though as the beautiful spirit with the dark locks looked up at him, a white light seeming to emit from the spirit’s defined feature.

_‘Wait, I know him. That’s…’_ “Iker? What are you…?” Cristiano was confused at first and found himself trying to figure out what was going on. One look at the man, one look at his face and suddenly, suddenly he knew. He knew that he was being punished for forsaking God before he was sent to his resting place in the hell of eternal anguish. God was simply showing him that he had sent him to Iker three years ago, not to Real Madrid. _‘How could I have been so blind?’_ God knew that Iker was the key to his future, the key to his existence. Cris had seen it in Iker their last night together, their last beautiful night of passion and love. The night that he made love to Iker – to anyone – for the first time. How could he have been so foolish to have forgotten that night so quickly, within hours? Why had it been so easy for him to replace his moment of pure serenity and ecstasy with what seemed to be a lifelong sentence in a prison of indifference? “I knew it. I knew you were a Saint.” He had always known there was something different about Iker but he could never figure out what it had been.

After what felt to be an eternity of thought to Cristiano, the saint finally responded, nodding his head in what Cristiano felt to be the saddest of way. “Yeah,” the saint replied, his voice reaching just above that of a whisper. The saint reached up to touch his face and he wasn’t sure what it was about that ethereal touch but warmed him. He could feel everything in that small piece of contact: the calmness and the sympathy of the saintly spirit, the assurance that Cristiano’s fears would soon be over, a promise that he wouldn’t let him fall anymore. Cristiano melted into the touch and gave way to a small tear before the heavenly voice of the saint brought him back.

“…but I think God would rather you refer to me as Saint Jude.” The spirit continued, looking deep within his eyes searching for something Cris feared he’d never find. His voice sounded remorseful, almost apologetic. “Don’t you worry, though, Cristiano. I’m going to take care of you, I’m going to help you find your way. You’ll only be lost a little while.”

Cristiano surrendered himself in the eyes of the Patron Saint, willing himself to fall into the safe warm clutches that would surely guide him back to his path, the one he had strayed from so long ago. He couldn’t help but to trust this saint to guide his lost soul, his lost sprit to where? He didn’t know and it didn’t matter to him where this spirit would take him, whether he was to follow Saint Jude to heaven or hell, he would surely follow.

“I’ll be right back,” the saint gently assured him before he rose from his resting place and disappeared behind a curtain of white. “Don’t go anywhere,” Cristiano heard him call back just before he left him in peace and solitude.

Cristiano lay there and stared up at the ceiling as he waited for the saint to reappear. He thought about his life and all of the wrong turns and bad decisions he had ever made. He thought about all of the secrets he’d had, all of the questions he was sure he had left unanswered. He thought about all of the tears his mother would surely cry when she found out about what he’d done, he thought about how he wouldn’t be there to catch them this time as he had been when his father passed. He thought about his sisters and his brothers and all of the hurt he would surely have caused them. As his thoughts began to fall onto his teammates, another face broke through the light.

Cristiano’s breathing hitched as the other man stepped towards him – he hadn’t even realized he had been breathing and suddenly found himself questioning all he had ever learned about heaven. He suddenly wasn’t sure if he was dead, if his soul had truly ceased to exist, if his spirit truly was venturing lost. He found himself asking himself if Saint Jude had arrived here to lead his spirit back to his earthly state, back to where he was sure his soul was lifelessly lying. No matter, the one before him had given him a bit of breath perhaps…

“Sergio,” Cristiano gasped as the ‘Sevillan’ stepped further into the light. “What are you doing here? Did Saint Jude send you here, bring you here to show me the way back?” He studied the features of the spirit and couldn’t help but notice how saddened it seemed. The spirit looked away from him and ran his fingers through his hair. Cristiano strained his eyes against the light and narrowed his gaze, nearly certain that he could make out tears moistening the physical features of the bright essence before him. Cristiano wasn’t sure of what to think of these… “Did you, too, fall as Saint Jude had to ensure that I was tested? ...to take form as my Angel of Clarity?” … tears of an angel.

–

Sergio stood in front of Cristiano in paralytic shock, unsure of what it was he was supposed to say to the older man, trying to think of anything he could do to help him. ‘I’m sure he’d appreciate it if I hurled myself off of a cliff,’ he supposed. He hadn’t even wanted to come up here in the first place, he had simply wanted to hear Iker say that he was fine. Instead, Iker had told him that Cristiano’s mind wasn’t with his body and Sergio just, he just had to see how debauched the situation was. Sergio didn’t expect it to be this bad, though. So he just stood there and cried, listening quietly as the man’s delusional words filled the room.

“I think I get it now but I guess it’s too late.” Cristiano sighed as he offered Sergio a smile, his eyes clouded as the cogs of his thoughts turned and turned. “I failed the test and now I’m doomed to hell, waiting here for Saint Jude to take my hand and guide me.” Cristiano leaned back against his bed that had been adjusted to form a sideways “L”, with defeat written all over his face. “I’m always a little late, huh?”

Sergio’s body started convulsing uncontrollably as his nerves and emotions got the better of him. He deserved the excruciating agony rippling through his body, he deserved to hurt and to suffer. But Cristiano? Cris didn’t deserve to be cast in this state of mind, stuck in a delusional way of thinking that had him convinced that he deserved all of this. It was almost as if, sometime between the bloods pouring out of his wrists and the bloods being pumped back into him, as if he had found a way to justify what had happened to him. A sick, twisted, and deluded way.

Cristiano’s voice was soft as he spoke again. “I know why you were there that day. I thought I had control over everything, over my life. So God sent you, my Angel of Clarity, to show me that I had control over nothing. That He had control over everything. It’ll be okay, though, Sergio. I blame neither your soul nor your spirit for what had happened to me. You were possessed by God’s Holy Spirit; you and I were both the same, pawns in another life lesson. If anything, I should apologize to you. Maybe if I hadn’t been so haughty, maybe then He wouldn’t have used you to get through to me in the way that He did. I just couldn’t accept it though, could I? I sure showed him…” Cristiano lowered his voice to a whisper, “he sure showed me.”

Sergio couldn’t take anymore and thought about shaking some sense into the Portuguese winger. He felt himself moving closer to Cristiano but just as he was about to reach out to shake the older man, as if an answer to an unspoken prayer, Iker walked back into the room.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.” Cristiano spoke pensively as Iker took a place, choosing to stand quietly beside Sergio. “You guys had always been so close, always with one another. I know now, though. I understand that you can guide neither a soul nor a spirit without a little clarity – whether you’re searching for the essence of it to build it up or to instill a bit of humility – I know that you must impart some sort of lucidity on it before leading it back to its intended path. Before leading me back…”

Iker glanced over at Sergio, asking him what Cris was talking about with his eyes. The nature of Cristiano’s words weren’t confusing as he had been speaking in the same manner before Iker had left but the content, the content was a bit disconcerting. Sergio simply shook his head and dismissed Iker’s worries with a simple wave of the hand. Iker sighed apprehensively as he looked back down at the man in the bed – he had never been so scared for someone in the entirety of his life.

Cris is just lost, he’s not gone. Just lost. Iker prayed harder than he ever had prayed for anything in his life for that to be true.

  
  



	4. Myriads of Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _His thumb had started to trace Cristiano’s lips and he could feel a quick shudder surge through the Portuguese as Iker watched him gently close his eyes again. Iker lifted his hand from its resting place, just beneath the cheekbone, until his thumb was grazing over the closed eyelid, mirroring the action towards the other closed eye. “No,” he whispered as he gently rubbed the outside of the other man’s eyelids. “You don’t get to close these anymore. I’m scared you may not ever open them again.”_

Fernando found himself sitting in some random bar searching for answers – alone, the very thing he had been avoiding in the past three years. He was trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. He was all alone; Olalla was back in England filing for a divorce and Sergio had [finally] left him. He couldn’t even blame Sergio, after all, he had lied to him. Fernando groaned as he swallowed down another gulp of his beer and tried to figure out what had happened to him. He used to be so selfless, so quiet but then… Oh yeah, that’s what happened and now he was shaping up to be nothing more than a liar. He had told the Sevillan that he had come to Madrid as an act against Olalla’s mistreatment of Sergio – lie. He had told Olalla that Sergio was the protagonist of his misconduct – lie. He had told Sergio that he loved him no more than pie – lie. He had convinced his Spanish National teammates that he was working his ass off to retain his starting position – lie. And he had so often heard people refer to Cristiano self-centered. Please, he was the only one who showed his true colors, he was the most honest person Fernando…knew? No, he knew CR7 not Cristiano. They had never talked much, mostly because Fernando was admittedly jealous of the man’s ability but now, as he was sitting here in this bar, he found himself regretting it. He wished he had gotten to know Cristiano as Sergio had. The man behind CR7. Now it was too late. Sure, he was still alive but Fernando knew that he wouldn’t walk out of the hospital as the same man who had humiliated him and his Chelsea.

He glanced down at his phone where he had received his message from Sergio. ‘Cris is in the hospital. G2G’ was all it had said, the news had told him the rest of the story – their version of it at least, though a suicide over contract negotiations seemed completely illogical. Fernando sighed as he ran his finger around the rim of his beer and checked his watch: 0300. He thought about swinging by the hospital to see Iker, he knew the Spanish captain would still be wide awake.

_Iker must be taking it really hard_ , Fernando thought. It’s not that he could ever describe Iker and Cris as the closest of friends, the world knew as much, he just knew that Iker was the type of person to take another person’s problems and pain and just put them on his shoulders. Iker would insert himself into a terrible situation or take the blame for something – like a used condom Villa’s girlfriend had found when she randomly popped into his room during the Confederations Cup – if it meant someone else’s happiness. That was just the way Iker was. That’s why he captained the team – Real Madrid and the Spanish National team – so well. He knew a thing or two about responsibility but he just didn’t know when it was time to stop taking it.

_Oh Iker_ , Fernando thought as some news reporter appeared on the screen and started talking about how Iker had discovered the body and had chosen to alert the authorities by pushing and pulling every button and lever he could find. Born to save, aren't you?

* * *

 

Iker had practically forbidden anyone other than himself and Sergio from entering the room, a task made all the easier with the game that would be going on later in the day. He didn’t want anyone else to see Cris in his current state of mind or lack of. He knew that Cristiano was going to have to talk to the therapists and the doctors eventually but if he did so now, Iker feared that they’d institutionalize him without hesitation. And Iker couldn’t have that, he couldn’t let them toss him in a room like he was crazy. He wasn’t crazy, just lost. So he lay down strict orders on who was coming and the amount of time they spent with Cristiano, a plan that was being backed fully by the club after he had briefed them on the situation.

The rest of the team had sent up their well wishes vowing to return, after they took care of business, with some edible food for the two of them. Sergio had left with them and Ancelotti had pushed Iker back into the room while shaking his head. He told him to stay right there and warned him that Diego would be in the net and if he didn’t want a repeat of the season prior, then he needed to ensure that he properly maintained his health – both mentally and emotionally.

So here Iker was, watching some news story inaccurately portray what had happened last night as they added in a false 112 call supposedly from him. He listened as the media had speculated that Cris’ suicide attempt was the result of a lack of feeling loved, that it had something to do with the sadness of last season. Iker shook his head and changed the channel, shocked to hear other news coming out of the Real Madrid camp that the club secretary had died that same night in a fatal car crash. Iker sighed in exasperation, already tired of hearing about all of the death and badness going on around the city and opted to look out the window instead.

The city seemed to grow quieter as the Bernabeau stadium grew louder. Iker could already make out the roaring sounds of the fans, daring a rival fan to start a chant against the white noise.

> _“Nobody tries to kill themselves over contract negotiations,” Marcelo had mocked one of the reporters on the television just before they had left for the Ciudad. “I mean, I’m sure we’ve all thought about hanging ourselves by our ties due to the tedious nature of it but no one ever has.”_

As a result of the [false] report, nearly every Real Madrid fan could be heard chanting ‘Cristiano’ and Iker could just imagine them throwing their hands up the air as they did. Iker could hear the crowd from Cristiano’s room and was thankful to be only 3.2 km away from the stadium within that moment. It felt good, as if they were there with him and Cristiano, as if they were all going through this together.

“Myriads of angels?” Cristiano asked softly from his bed.

Iker turned to face the younger man and smiled as he found the gentle eyes of the Portuguese forward on him. Cristiano was still a bit pale and hadn’t quite recovered fully as of yet but he was already looking much better than he had been in days. “Exactly.” Iker sighed as he walked over towards the bed and sat down just on the side of it. Cristiano went to speak again but Iker hushed him, placing two fingers to his soft lips. The Spaniard couldn’t hear any more about saints and sinners and if Cristiano said one more thing about going to hell, Iker wasn’t sure he could refrain himself any longer from slapping the shit and the nonsense out of the winger. He just wanted to see Cristiano like this, eyes open and lips playing against a soft smile.

Cristiano closed his eyes and released a soft sigh at the contact. His shoulders seemed to relax for the first time since he’d been awake as he’d been waiting for Iker [Saint Jude] to guide him to the netherworld. This moment, though, he wouldn’t have minded staying in this moment a little longer. Seemingly out of nowhere, he felt his – heart? – thump heavily and wildly against his chest. Cristiano kneaded his brows together, keeping his eyes closed gently, and tried to figure out what was going on with him.

Iker wanted to take him somewhere else, though. He didn’t want to guide him above or below, simply beyond this moment was just fine for him. He turned to face Cristiano, dreamily removing his two fingers, replacing them with his thumb of the hand opposite while cupping the face of the younger man. He gradually pulled Cristiano’s head up until they were looking into one another’s eyes, catching a glimpse of one another’s spirits: one soul’s vacated and the other desperate to breathe a piece of life right back into the hollow soul, through those eyes. His thumb had started to trace Cristiano’s lips and he could feel a quick shudder surge through the Portuguese as Iker watched him gently close his eyes again. Iker lifted his hand from its resting place, just beneath the cheekbone, until his thumb was grazing over the closed eyelid, mirroring the action towards the other closed eye. “No,” he whispered as he gently rubbed the outside of the other man’s eyelids. “You don’t get to close these anymore. I’m scared you may not ever open them again.”

Cristiano’s eyes opened and he deepened the wrinkles just above his brow. He looked back at the Spaniard before him, completely mystified and a bit shaken. It seemed so surreal, everything around him seemed so crisp and so new. Was he really…?

Iker could see the revelation dawning on Cristiano through his features: tears filled his eyes and his mouth parted ever so slightly in realization. His eyes widened and then narrowed again, he went to speak but he didn’t seem capable of finding the words. Iker watched him just in case this would pass but Cristiano’s eyes found the monitors and he was watching the steady rise and fall, listening to the steady beep, beep, beep of his heart rate.

“Oh Cris,” Iker muttered as he leaned in and hesitantly placed a soft kiss on Cristiano’s lips. Iker felt like he could breathe again, grateful that Cris had snapped out of his delusional state of mind. “You were never dead and I don’t know, I don’t know what I would’ve done with myself if you ever had been.”

“What are you talking about?” Cristiano said abstractedly searching Iker's eyes after Iker had finally pulled away. “Saint Jude brought me here.” His words were simple but he knew them to be true. Saint Jude had brought him here after hours of deliberation. He had waited patiently for the saints and the angels, the Father and the Son to pass their judgment and now, here he was, with Iker.

Iker gave Cristiano a questioning look filled with concern. “Did he tell you anything?” He looked deep into Cristiano’s eye but noted that he was here, with him. He searched for any lingering signs of delusion but found none. “Saint Jude? Did he…?”

Cris gave way to a small smile and nervously looked back up into the keepers eyes. “He told me to find myself, said I might find it in you. He told me that you’d keep me here. Where I belong.”

A spark. “GOOOOOOAL!”…and the stadium erupted in full cheer.


	5. Malevolence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Hey Iker!” Sergio called out towards the bedroom where he supposed the keeper to be. “After I get back from the break, you, myself, and Cristiano should all go out to eat! You know, a celebration of life!”_
> 
> _“Yeah man, that sounds good!”_
> 
> _“You like Salamar? Maybe we can catch a bullfight afterwards.”_

Iker’s worst fears had come to life and were instantly put to rest as the courts approved his motion for conservatorship just as the medical staff were preparing accommodations for Cristiano in the Benito Menna Mental Health Care Complex in Barcelona. He was shocked as the idea of a conservatorship came from the Real Madrid Institution, that they had approached him with the idea, and had their legal team file the motion.

_I can’t believe Mourinho had almost successfully driven me away from this place, from these people. I mean, sure, they’re probably just protecting Cris as an investment but Florentino had gone out of his way to ensure he’d be under my care._ ‘I can rest with the assurance that he’s going to be in good hands. Only if he’s in yours, Iker‘.

* * *

Sergio lay on his couch staring up at the ceiling. He knew he should get help, he knew there was something wrong with him. How can you ravage the body of someone who called you ‘friend’ and just walk away? He had went home and had fallen asleep thinking nothing of it until Cristiano didn’t show up for practice the next day. Even then, when Iker had said Cristiano was not well but that he had been looking after him, all he could think of was what he would say if Cristiano had told Iker. Not Cristiano. Who thinks that way? Who kisses a man to tell him that you had been the one who bent him over and shattered his innocence? What kind of person only feels remorse when he’s indirectly killed someone but returns to himself immediately after? Sure he feels guilt and pain but only when he’s around Cristiano. He doesn’t give anything he’s done a second thought until he’s around the afflicted. He knew he was sick. He knew he needed help. But so did the person who made him this way.

Sergio looked over at the coffee table as his phone started buzzing. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“The court’s granted me a conservatorship so Cristiano doesn’t have to go all the way to Barcelona and I just needed some help picking up a few things from his house before they discharge him from the hospital. Help me out? I know it’s your last day here before you head out for the international break but, please?”

“Yeah, sure.” Sergio sighed as he glanced up at the clock. “What time are you heading over there?”

“I’m walking to my car now. By the way, heard you got the game winning goal yesterday. Way to stick it to them...”

Sergio thought back to the game just yesterday. He didn't have to think too hard because he was still feeling it. “Shows where you’ve been. I had two: header from Modric’s corner kick and a penalty.”

“You know you play for Madrid when you’ve got a defender on the score sheet…”

“Twice! See you in a bit Iker.”

“Later.”

* * *

 

“Okay, so we just need to figure out what Cristiano would need to make him comfortable.” Iker said looking around Cristiano’s place, deciding to begin in the living room. PS3? No, I have one of those, he could just load his profile. PES? I have FIFA…? Bring.

“Wouldn’t it be easier for you guys to just be here then rather than over at your place? Besides, I thought Sara cleaned you out after you threw her to the wolves.” Sergio asked as he drifted aimlessly into the kitchen.

“I didn’t throw her to the wolves, Sergio. I just got tired of her putting our supposedly private conversations to ink and turning around and using it to sell newspapers. That’s bullshit and even you agreed, Sergio. Hell, you helped the team attack me when she opened her mouth about what I had told her when I was concerned about there being a possible divide in the locker room.” Iker sighed, “You’re a fucking troll, Sergio. Why did I just fall for that? And no, we can’t just stay here. Something happened here that made Cristiano… Well, you know. Besides, Sergio? Sergio?”

Iker heard the sound of paper tearing. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen.

“Sergio? We’re supposed to be collecting things that… What are you doing?” Iker sounded as he approached the Sevillan. “Sergio, stop going through Cris’ mail. That, that is a felony. It’s a federal offense, Sergio.”

Sergio ignored Iker’s lecture, reading the writing on the paper clutched in his hands. Iker sighed in defeat and looked down at the bar top to see the front of the envelope that had once encased the letter, hoping to get some sort of clue on what had peaked the caramel Spaniard’s curiosity. His face scrunched when he realized the envelope had been simply inscribed with the name “Sergio”. Beside it was a still sealed envelope that read “Iker”. Confused, Iker picked it up and tore it open.

> _Iker,_
> 
> _There’s so much I wish I could’ve told you. So much I wish I could’ve said. I know you’re probably thinking that I could’ve if I hadn’t of taken the easy way out. But you have to understand, it was my only way out. I could never evict the memories, I could never erase the scars._
> 
> _I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry. I’m not sorry for what I’ve done to myself. I’m sorry for what it’s going to do to you, what it’s already done to you. But I’m not worried because you’re not me. You’re stronger than me._
> 
> _Don’t fall. Not now. Don’t lose yourself, don’t let yourself go trying to hold onto me. I’m gone, Iker. I know you’re still trying to hold on and refusing to let go of me. But you need to, Iker. Letting go of someone, letting go of me, doesn’t mean that you’ve stopped caring. I know how much you cared for me and I know that you always will. Letting me go doesn’t mean that you have to forget me. Let me go, accept that the only person you really have control over is yourself. If you lose that, the control over yourself, you’re no better than me._
> 
> _But you are. You are better than me._
> 
> _You had already saved me from Fate once. I just couldn't save myself. I simply surrendered to it._
> 
> _I love you, Iker._
> 
> _-Cris_

Iker folded up the letter and shoved it into his pocket. He knew somewhere deep inside that he should’ve burned it. It was a suicide note meaning he wasn’t supposed to see it while Cristiano was still here. But he couldn’t burn it. This was all Cris was going to leave for him? No explanation. A night after the most passionate love making of his life and this was all Cris had intended to leave? Iker turned and headed down the hallway to grab some more of Cris’ things muttering under his breath about how wasn’t letting Cris go any fucking where. Not yesterday. Not today. Not tomorrow.

Sergio kept rereading the letter in his hands and was grateful when he had realized Iker had left the room, just in case he radiated any odd vibes that the older man may pick up on.

> _Sergio,_
> 
> _Remember the first time we met, my first day in Madrid? I remember getting lost near the botanical gardens and having to call you to come find me. When you eventually found me, we just ended up lost together. I remember trying to ask around, trying to figure out where we were. I remember the looks people were giving me because my Spanish was difficult to understand. I remember your face when you suddenly remembered that you spoke Spanish fluently. We laughed. I remember laughing with you. I remember thinking that I could laugh with you forever. You had taken me to that amazing fish restaurant, Salamar, afterwards. You told me that I would never have better seafood at any other place in Madrid. Can you go there and eat for me?_
> 
> _Remember the time we had sat down to eat dinner after the match against Celta? We had won it with two goals but not before you were sent off. I remember sitting there thinking about the time I had said you were like a bull when you saw red. Can you go to a bullfight for me?_
> 
> _I loved you, Sergio. I was in love with you. You kissed me and for the first time since… you… for the first time I felt safe._
> 
> _But then you made me hate myself. How could you do that to me? I gave you everything, a shoulder to cry on, a person to vent to, everything you had asked... I would have given you so much more. Was everything not enough? You made me hate myself. It was supposed to be my life and my heart, but it was your words that forced my knife. When did you start to hold so much power over me, when did you take control of what was supposed to be mine? I wish you had never told me. I wish I had never known._
> 
> _But it doesn't matter anymore. It's over now._
> 
> _I forgive you, Sergio._
> 
> _-Ronny_

A malevolent smile crept up on Sergio’s face as he read the ten words over and over again. ‘I loved you, Sergio. I was in love with you.’ “Hey Iker!” Sergio called out towards the bedroom where he supposed the keeper to be. “After I get back from the break, you, myself, and Cristiano should all go out to eat! You know, a celebration of life!”

“Yeah man, that sounds good!”

“You like Salamar? Maybe we can catch a bullfight afterwards.”

He knew there was something wrong with him but he had accepted on the very day he had left Cris standing here – bewildered and confused - in this very house that he was beyond praying for.


	6. Playing For Keeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Nando, why so serious?” Sergio’s voice sounded so careless, so free, as if he had floated to training on white fluffy clouds pulled by fucking unicorns, reigns made of rainbows, as a halo of butterflies floated around his face of pure sunshine._
> 
> _Disappointed, flabberghasted, confused, concerned… He couldn’t name the feeling but he hated it. He hated Sergio’s attitude, he hated the sound of his voice within the moment. He hated that Sergio wasn’t… hurt? “What the fuck is with you, Sergio?” Fernando scoffed as he found himself caught in the brown eyes of the Andalusian. “Are you really so dispirited that you simply don’t care anymore? Is that it? Your friend just tried to commit suicide and you’re here acting like…” Fernando flailed his arms about before he extended them to the man in front of him, “like this. Like nothing happened.”_

Fernando knew that this day would be coming; he knew he’d have to face the Sevillan eventually, sooner rather than later given that their little dispute had happened just days before a national break. He wasn’t looking forward to it - not at all however, he deemed himself more than capable of holding his own should the Andalusian become confrontational. Looking over at the younger Spaniard though, he realized that this was already not going to go as he had expected, if it were going to happen at all. Sergio was frolicking around with a few of the other members of the team, Xabi and Arbeloa, acting as if nothing had happened between the two of them within the past few days. Piece of him was relieved, the other part of him wanted to know what had spurred the sudden change. If anything, he had expected him to at least be depressed as Cristiano had just attempted suicide, but no. Nothing of the sort.

“Alright guys, partner up for some stretching!” Del Bosque shouted as he looked around, seeming to partner people up with whomever they happened to be standing beside. Fernando quickly looked around trying to figure out who he was around and breathed out a sigh of relief as he brushed shoulders with Xavi who was carrying on a conversation with Villa. He could see Navas out of the corner of his eye as well just sort of standing there, lost in his thoughts, and figured that Del Bosque would more than likely pair him up with the blue eyed forward.

“Fernando!” He couldn’t help but cringe at the way his manager shouted his name before he immediately turned to meet the expectant gaze of the much older Spaniard. “You, partner up with Sergio.” He inwardly groaned as he pushed past his coach but felt his arm catch in the grasp of the round man. It wasn’t enough to stop him but just enough to catch his attention as the elder quickly whispered his concerns: “you have resolved all of the issues between the two of you, have you not?”

He nodded though he was quite certain that the question had been a rhetorical one and made his way over to the still jovial Sergio. It was annoying in a sense and part of him wanted to slap the grin off of his face; it was as if Sergio was completely impervious to the deceit of Fernando and the letter from Olalla, it was as if he hadn’t nearly lost one of his closest teammates - it was as if nothing had happened at all… His confusion must’ve been written all over his face like the headlining story of Marca because Sergio simply laughed at him as he grabbed his leg to help him stretch out his hamstrings. Fernando fought off the urge to shove the number fifteen’s knee into his own face but couldn’t suppress the small smile that had formed at the thought: Sergio with a black eye as he desperately searched for a way to explain how it had happened. A beautiful thought it was...

“Nando, why so serious?” Sergio’s voice sounded so careless, so free, as if he had floated to training on white fluffy clouds pulled by fucking unicorns, reigns made of rainbows, as a halo of butterflies floated around his face of pure sunshine.

Disappointed, flabberghasted, confused, concerned… He couldn’t name the feeling but he hated it. He hated Sergio’s attitude, he hated the sound of his voice within the moment. He hated that Sergio wasn’t… hurt? “What the fuck is with you, Sergio?” Fernando scoffed as he found himself caught in the brown eyes of the Andalusian. “Are you really so dispirited that you simply don’t care anymore? Is that it? Your friend just tried to commit suicide and you’re here acting like…” Fernando flailed his arms about before he extended them to the man in front of him, “like this. Like nothing happened.”

“He’s alive and well.” Sergio shrugged as he pulled at the back of his own thigh and grunted through the burning of the stretch. “That’s all that matters…”

“That’s all that matters?” Fernando quietly spat out in disbelief as he pressed down harder than necessary against the Sevillan’s ankle. “What the fuck is the matter with you? Have I really messed you up that much?”

Sergio released a loud, boisterous laugh and pulled his legs from Fernando as he clutched his knees to his chest and rolled across the ground, face turning a beet red from the intense laughter. The team had pretty much stopped doing their stretches and turned to Fernando as if they were asking what the fuck had gotten into Sergio. He simply shrugged and made gesticulations accusing Sergio of being out of his damned mind. He figured he probably was anyway.  When Sergio had finally settled down, he spoke though he still seemed to be gasping for air in between syllables. “Oh, Nando. You kill me. Don’t flatter yourself, doll face.”

Fernando winced at the condescending tone Sergio’s voice happened to be dripping with. He had expected Sergio to be bitter and start yelling from the moment they saw each other and to go nonstop until they had parted ways. If you had told him Sergio would be content, he’d call bullshit. If you had said Sergio would laugh at him for offering notions that he’d been affected by their last interaction, he would’ve had you committed.

“Fernando,” Sergio continued, regaining his composure, “I don’t care that you don’t love me. I don’t care that you used me. I don’t care that you took advantage of my feelings for you and that you only needed me as an outlet to escape from yourself and the shit life you have built around yourself. I don’t care.”

Fernando searched Sergio’s voice, probing for a hint of breakage, uncertainty, anything that would tell him that Sergio was merely vocalizing a lie to help himself cope and deal with what had happened.

“Sergio, you don’t have to lie to me. I get it if you’re mad and truly understand if you never want to see me again except when you have to. I know that what I did was…”

“Petty. Besides, I think my affections seemed to have fallen to the form of someone else.” A spiteful look became evident on the Sevillan’s features and his mind easily floated elsewhere. The smile was small but the intent behind it definitely fell into the realms of the unknown.

Fernando felt the jealousy rising within his chest, he felt as if he was holding molten lava within the confines of his ribcage and all he could do was repeat over and over again that he would not stand for being so easily replaced. “Oh, yeah? Who’s the ‘lucky’ bastard?”

* * *

“Cris!” Iker looked over disapprovingly just as the Portuguese opened the door to his Lamborghini. “Where are you going?” They had just arrived at Iker’s house after a long and tedious discharge process, filled with paperwork and signatures and autographs. However, sneaking out of the hospital without being detected by paparazzi was a completely different story. Security had to call in a decoy of Cristiano and even then, Cris and Iker still had to use an ambulance usually employed for hospital transfers to get to the parking garage where Iker had stashed his car. Between the paperwork and the escape, Iker was wiped.

“Uhm, home?” Cristiano replied carefully, his hand still moving slowly along the door handle of the Italian machine, threatening to pull it further open.

Those fucking assholes didn’t tell him, Iker thought. How the fuck am I supposed to tell him I’m in charge of him? He’s a grown ass man and I’m only four years older than him. What if he gets angry? What if he doesn’t want to be here – with me?

“You’re already there…” Iker tried, unsuccessfully as he noticed Cristiano’s bewilderment grow. “They have you under my conservatorship. It was either that or let you go to some fucking mental health facility out somewhere in Cataluña. Barcelona, I think, was the city it was in or some shit and we figured you’d be better here with us.” Iker offered him a warm smile as he nervously finished the explanation.

Tears began to take form in Cristiano’s eyes. “You didn’t have to do that, Iker. Really. You should have let me go there. Here, I’ll only hold you back. Like now. Already, you’re missing your duties with your national team.” His voice was quiet, appreciative, but also doubtful. He had never intended to ruin anyone’s life, other than his own.

“Cris, you’re a lot more important than a friendly match against some shit country.” Iker chuckled out as he rattled his mind and tried to remember exactly who Spain were set to play.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’ve been smoking but football is life. You’re no better off than I’d have been if you hadn’t showed up to…” Cristiano trailed, once again feeling ashamed of himself as he stood in the eyes of Iker.

“'...save you from Fate a second time'?” Iker finished softly, looking up to meet the eyes of the Portuguese.

Cristiano gave him a mystified look before responding with, “You did, didn’t you?” He looked up towards the thin layer of clouds and then back to Iker, staring directly into the goalie’s eyes. “If you miss one more fucking match I’m going to Barcelona.”

“Blasphemy!” Iker shouted playfully before grabbing Cristiano’s hand to lead him inside, breathing a sigh of relief as he started to walk forward. Cristiano pulled back on Iker’s hand firmly though, rather than obediently following him into his home. The unexpected resistance had Iker faltering back and, eventually, falling into the strong clutches of Cristiano’s arms. He turned and looked up into the eyes of the number seven who was gazing right back into his, looking for something. He must’ve found it as Iker saw another spark, no fire yet but sparks were better than the dark hollow voids.

Cristiano slowly leaned in, placing his lips gently against the Spaniard’s. How Iker’s hands had gone from saving shots to saving lives, Cristiano didn’t know…but when they were placed alongside his back he knew that’s where they had belonged. Those hands that were slowly bringing him back to life, those hands that were guiding him down a new path. He felt malleable in them, like he didn’t have to be and feel the way he did, as if those hands could change him. Cristiano slowly pulled away, allowing his lips to linger and graze over Iker’s for a little while longer before asking what had started weighing on his mind. “Why did you save me, again?”

"...because I'm your keeper." Iker chuckled out as ruffled Cristiano’s curls.

Cristiano smiled at the metaphor but wrinkled his forehead as he became plagued by more questions. "Yeah but how did you know I needed it?"

Iker was about to tell him he had ended up there by chance, that he was unaware of where he had been going. It was almost as if… And for the first time, Iker understood where that little voice that had brought him to the Ciudad that evening came from. It wasn't luck, it wasn't chance. Iker smiled and looked up at the winger as if the answer was obvious and sitting in front of him the whole time.

> _"Stay here. Keep me... I’m going crazy... by myself. I hate humility..."_
> 
> _"Try not to implode."_
> 
> _"I'll do my best but I can make no promises."_

"I think you told me, Cris." Iker offered as he found the quizzical gaze of the Portuguese man.

Cristiano looked confused and seemed to be going over the events of that day, trying to remember anything he may have said… After a few moments, he dismissively shook his head. "No, I, I didn't say anything."

"... but I heard you."


	7. Selfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Iker nuzzled into the crook of Cristiano’s neck. One night of pure Cristiano – the conversation, the bond, the sex – one night and he was addicted. If love is a drug – an intoxicating, impairing notion – then Cristiano was his ecstasy, his drug…And like an addict being forced into rehab, he wasn’t going to be ripped away from his drug any sooner than he needed to be. He needed the high, the euphoria, he needed Cristiano._

It was almost as if Cristiano was uncomfortable being here, it was almost as if Cristiano would look around him and think that he didn’t belong here. Iker knew it would be overwhelming but this Cris, this new Cristiano… He’d stop in middle of packing and would look around him often, amazed and disappointed that he could still see the colors of this world. More than once Iker saw him place his finger on a sharp corner of a something and, more than once, Iker would have to intervene before Cristiano could break the skin, watching as the younger man would become troubled by the simple fact that he could still feel. More than once, Iker had to rewrap those batter wrists because, more than once, he caught Cristiano staring at the scars engraved on them for minutes without end it seemed, seeming to be crushed by the failure of his suicide attempt. He hated seeing Cristiano like this, he hated that Cristiano had to go through this… He was just happy that Cristiano was still here - a little bent, a little torn, but still here.

He didn’t know why he was so nervous, he could put his finger on why he was suddenly overwhelmed by the notion that he had done something wrong. He knew that he wouldn’t be bringing home the same Cristiano he was with the night before the… incident, he knew Cristiano would never be the same again. He knew that expecting Cristiano to just lift him up into his arms and carry him inside and simply ‘take him’ had been a little farfetched or ridiculously implausible for those of sound mind. The man had just come back from the hospital after a suicide attempt but Iker had hoped for stronger traces of their passionate night of love making from the Portuguese, he had hoped for flame to form from that spark they had created at the hospital... He definitely wasn’t complaining about the kissing – it was mind-blowing and incomparable to anything he had ever experienced, minus the night of sex of course – it had just seemed to be more rooted in Cris’ appreciation for Iker and what he had done rather than affection, rather than passion.

He wanted to hold Cristiano from behind, kiss him on the neck, erase those signs of uncertainties from his face by assuring him that he was where he belonged - here, with him, feeling, breathing, seeing, living - with him. He couldn’t though, he was warned by the doctors and nurses, warned by the therapists and recovery specialists, that too much too soon would draw a setback. Would it be too much? Telling Cristiano that he belonged here with him? He could hear the therapists telling him that Cristiano has to want to live for himself because people tend to fade and fall to the wayside, grow old and pass, move on and move out…

Iker did his best to shake away the contents of his thoughts and refocused back to the Cristiano in the present – now was not the time to try to figure out what was going to happen between them. The doctor’s had told him that Cristiano had been discharged fairly quickly - too quickly - due to the media attention but that he still required certain medications for the transfusion and needed to be watched carefully for any physical setbacks, while the therapists had him looking for emotional ones with the assurance that they’d be following the situation closely.

Iker had sworn to himself that he’d be more vigilant this time and that was a promise he had intended on keeping. He pulled one of the boxes off of the top of the pile and opened it, sighing at the contents: bottles and bottles of painkillers; everything from Lithium to kill the pain of loneliness, to Vicodin to kill the pain in Cristiano’s wrists, to Klonopin to kill the pain of the anxiety of being forced to live, to the everyday Tylenol and Motrin… Iker smartly took the box into the kitchen and methodically placed each pill bottle in the medicine cabinet and locked it, inwardly patting himself on the back for installing a lock on his medicine cabinet last July. His brother had broken his leg goofing off with some friends on his visit and had gotten a little carried away with the painkillers...

“Where do you want me?” Cristiano asked holding up his suitcase of clothes for Iker to see as he pulled the other man from the memory of his brother’s visit. Iker glanced around the rest of the kitchen and smiled as he found some of his cabinet shelves fully stocked with Cristiano’s protein shakes and overly healthy foods; he could see the entertainment center in the living room packed full with Cristiano’s games mixed in with his - organized alphabetically it seemed - and all of the little extras in places Cristiano had deemed appropriate. The grin that formed on his face when he saw Cris’ things amongst his was permanent, nothing could wipe it off of his face. He liked them there, it seemed as if that was where they should’ve been.

“Iker!” Cristiano snapped his fingers in front of Iker’s face and lightly kicked his suitcase to the floor, the thud as it hit the floor pulling the keeper out of his thoughts.

“Wha-what? Oh shit, my bad.” Iker shook his head and looked up at Cris’ flushed expression. Oh no, what had his face been communicating nonverbally? “I’m sorry, Cristiano. I just, I was a little distracted I guess.”

“Its fine, man.” Cristiano smiled as he rubbed the back of his neck. He told himself he wasn’t going to ask but he was curious to say the least. Iker kept zoning out everytime he looked at him it seemed and he couldn’t help but feel as if the Spaniard was a bit… disappointed in him. ”What were you thinking so hard about?” ...and he cared. He actually cared about what Iker thought of him. To go from caring about nothing, to go from pure indifference, to realizing that he cared about someone? He was going to hold on to that.

_Thank goodness_ , Iker sighed as he watched Cristiano pull his own bottom lip in between his teeth. “You.” _Damn me_ , he thought as Cristiano released the slightly bruised piece of flesh to run his tongue over his own upper lip. “Me?” _Oh, fuck me!_ “Fuck me?” _Stop saying what you’re thinking asshole._ “...what I’m thinking?”

Cristiano let out a light chuckle and felt the blood rushing to his cheeks. “Wow, Iker. You, uh, you get straight to the point, huh?” Cristiano quickly averted his gaze to his fingernails and started to pick at the cuticles, immediately dismissing his mother’s nagging voice as he pulled back at the weird texture. She hated it when he picked at his cuticles. “So… Is that why you wanted me here?”

“No, that’s not what I had meant, Cris. I’m sorry my mind is just fucking depleted. I mean, I was thinking about you but I just… No, that’s not why I wanted you here. I wanted you here so I could observe you to make sure you were and stayed safe. I just want to fucking wrap you in bubble wrap or some shit like that, you know? You really fucking scared me and I care too much to just leave you in the hands of somebody who’s simply ‘doing their job’ and nothing more. That’s why you’re here. Not because I think we should…”

“So you don’t want to…?” Cristiano held a guarded look in his eyes as he pointed his finger between himself and the keeper. That night in the locker room, just before his blood loss had become too substantial to carry rational thought, he had thought about Iker and him, as the water fell carrying his blood down the drain he had thought about what they were and could be. His dying thoughts were of Iker. That’s when he realized he had made a mistake. That’s when he had realized that he wasn’t entirely numb, he wasn’t entirely indifferent. He cared about how his actions would affect Iker. He worried about how Iker would take it. He worried, he cared, he felt… You can’t feel when you’re numb, you had nothing… but he, he had Iker.

“Cris, look at you. Of course I want that body.” Iker’s response was playful and he had done his best to make the truth behind it unreadable, to mask that he really did want Cris. But he had wanted the younger man beyond the physicality Cris was alluding to, he wanted him emotionally, mentally, and spiritually – spiritually? That one might take a while, but I’ll wait – he wanted Cristiano completely. “Just when you’re ready for it.”

Cristiano laughed and looked down at his body grateful that, despite the week of hell he’s gone through, he still had his impeccable form. “Yeah, it is pretty awesome.”

Iker couldn’t help but smile, elated to hear a hint of the old Cris come from the new one’s lips. He hadn’t responded in his overly cocky, smug, “I’m-Cristiano-Ronaldo-bitch” tone of voice but it still held crumbs of the smug mannerisms of the Portuguese – mannerisms that, since Iker had first found him crumbled on a red floor, had been locked away. Iker studied him for a few more moments before his subconscious couldn’t handle the silence anymore, words spilling out into the empty air, “Why did you do it, Cris?”

Cristiano’s smile dropped as he set his eyes on something just beyond Iker and held his gaze there. Iker could tell he was forcing the words to leave his mind when he told him, “It seemed like my only option at the time. But it doesn’t matter anymore, Iker. I’m here, right. I’m alive. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it’s not what you wanted. I mean, being here, being alive wasn’t an option just two nights ago for you. Shit like that doesn’t just fade, Cristiano and I’m scared. God, Cristiano, I’m so fucking scared of losing you. And I admit that it’s a little selfish but you need to be here, I need you here.”

“Yeah, that seems a bit selfish.” Cristiano lightly chuckled, he didn’t mean it but he had spoken with a therapist before they discharged his so they could rule out him being an intermediate threat to himself. She asked him why he wanted to live and forbade him from saying a name. ‘People fade, Cristiano, and you can’t let your will to live fade with them.’ “What about me, though?”

Cristiano was trying to lighten the newfound heavy mood that had set upon them in the room, Iker could tell he was, but that didn’t stop the hurt the goalie was feeling. “You’ve already lost yourself, Cristiano. I’m here to help you look for you, like I’ve always been. This, this isn’t you so how could you possibly know what you want? ...but you can’t, you just can’t fucking quit on me, Cris. You’ve never quit before, not once. Why would you start now? On me? Do you know how fucking scared I was? Seeing you like that? Thinking I would lose you?”

“Iker,” Cristiano wrapped his arms around the older man and squeezed with all of the strength he had. “Iker, it’s just that…” he couldn’t tell him. What would he have said? Oh, Iker. You see, I was in love with Sergio and then I found out he happened to be the person who had raped me. So I was going to off myself because I couldn’t live with that amount of dejection despite what this may have evolved into. Yeah, he sounded like an inconsiderate douche. “Iker, I wasn’t thinking about anything but that moment. I couldn’t feel anything, I was apathetic towards pretty much everything. And, you know, I’m sorry for that. I wasn’t thinking about you it was just me and…” he stopped himself before he said too much more, one word more. “You’re right. It was selfish.”

Iker nuzzled into the crook of Cristiano’s neck. One night of pure Cristiano – the conversation, the bond, the sex – one night and he was addicted. If love is a drug – an intoxicating, impairing notion – then Cristiano was his ecstasy, his drug…And like an addict being forced into rehab, he wasn’t going to be ripped away from his drug any sooner than he needed to be. He needed the high, the euphoria, he needed Cristiano.

“Cris,” Iker whispered into the caramel neck, “Just don’t try to do that again? For me?”

Cris looked down, his dark gaze piercing into the Spaniard’s soul to catch his spirit rise in anxious wait. “For you? Anything.”

Despite the age difference, Iker couldn’t quiet the childlike emotions. He felt giddy in the younger man’s strong arms, protected. He felt cherished and as if his feelings on Cris’ disposition were valued, as if he was the only person that had anchored Cris here on the earth, that he was the one who had denied God another angel. He felt loved. He felt… high.

* * *

Sergio had checked the bathroom door four times to make sure he had locked it but that didn’t stop him from checking it a fifth time. What the hell am I doing? He questioned himself as he turned the knobs of the shower, adjusting the water to the perfect temperature setting, before he slowly climbed in and willed his thoughts to wash down the drain with the sweat and dirt he had acquired from the day’s training session with the national team. Sure, he had loved the look of pure jealousy etched across the freckled Spaniard’s face, he loved the rage he knew was boiling beneath the surface, he even loved how Fernando still felt as if he were entitled to know every detail of his life. He just wasn’t ready to talk to him yet, not to mention, Cris. Sergio shuddered at the mere thought of Cristiano and the letter he had found in his home. Sergio had always had something of a crush on Cristiano. Hell, when they had first met, Sergio had immediately fallen for the sculpted older man. Then as time passed the flame had died down. Then Fernando happened, then Cris…

He hadn’t been standing there for more than a minute when there was suddenly a loud knock at the door followed by a “Sergio! Open the door, please. I really have to piss and if you don’t I swear to fucking God and all things holy I’m going to piss in your suitcase!”

Sergio bent over to pick up the shampoo bottle he’d dropped out of surprise and mumbled under his breath as he made his way to the door, mumbling bitter words of discontent as the door slid open.

Xabi slowly floated into the bathroom and took his place before the porcelain throne with a huge grin on his face. Victory was his.

“Some emergency.” Sergio dryly noted as he climbed back into the shower.

“Hey, Sergio. What’s going on with you and Nando? I mean, I know it’s one of my business but,

uh, weren’t you two…?”

“Weren’t we what?” Sergio quickly stuck his head out of the shower, realizing his blunder a little too late as Xabi’s look of concern, thrown over his shoulder, drifted to confusion, then rapidly to knowing.

“Fuck me, you mean to tell me that you and Nando, like, hug without clothes on and shit like that? How did I miss that?” Xabi’s eyebrows furrowed together beneath his wrinkled forehead; he was searching his mind for any indications of there being a ‘thing’ between the two. He didn’t even know that either of them were gay, not to mention one of them was definitely married - to a woman - with kids… He looked up and caught Sergio’s eyes, the hurt in them made all the more evident with each passing second. “You want to talk about it?”

“Honestly, no.” Sergio replied bluntly as he closed the curtain again and tried to drown himself in the free falling water.

“Do you need to talk about it?” Xabi emphasized the word need to the best of his ability as he pulled himself back together, restoring his jeans to the way they had been intended to be worn. Xabi knew Sergio was never one to look for help nor was he one to take it even if it was shoved down his throat. Xabi inwardly laughed inappropriately at his whimsical pun, wondering who was taking and who was shoving what down the other’s throat. He quickly reprimanded himself and returned his thoughts to the more pressing matter. “So what happened between you two?”

Sergio sighed, knowing how persistent Xabi could be he wasn’t even willing to fight the man with his assertion of being ‘just fine’. “He doesn’t feel the way I do.”

“Oh, well that’s some shit, huh? I’m sorry but I’m not on the same page so how do you feel, Sergio? About him?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I can’t deny that I’m in love with Fernando but he doesn’t love me back. At all. He’s in love with Olalla. He had told me that he didn’t love me anymore than he loved pie.” A tear slowly trickled down the Sevillan’s face.

Xabi formed a small smile on his face, a reassuring one. “Well, if he loves you as much as I love Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie then you can go ahead and start writing your vows…”

Sergio let out a light chuckle. Xabi was never usually one for puns or witticisms but Sergio recognized the effort the Basque was making and made sure to let Xabi know it was appreciated. Hell, he should be like this more often, Sergio thought to himself. “I’ve never had Strawberry-Rhubarb.”

Xabi’s face fell to a blank stare. “I swear, you’d burn in hell if it weren’t for me. Come on, there’s a bakery down the road and I’m sure they can’t possibly be as disappointing as you are to me right now. Get your ass out of the shower and into some clothes. Now.” And with that Xabi turned to make his exit

“Wait!” Sergio shouted as the red beard made his way out. "We can’t eat that just before a…”

“Shut up, Sergio. All of my fucks are being utilized in more constructive areas, more important areas. Like pie.”


	8. Strawberry-Rhubarb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You know what Sergio? Fuck it. All of it. I know it’s wrong on so many levels but just do what makes you happy. Fuck Olalla. Fuck Fernando. Don’t fuck Cris because he’s fucked himself up enough, but what the hell? Try it. Even if that means you’re whoring yourself around to attackers… What is that anyway? Too good for the defenders and midfielders?” Xabi chuckled but Sergio could see the edge. He was speaking out of regret, as if he had let something slip him by. “You need to figure out what’s best for you. Try things with Fernando. Try things with Cris. Just do it for yourself. And eat that fucking pie before I do!”_

Sergio spared his slice Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie a hesitant glance. Sure, it looked delicious but if it was going to transform him into what Xabi had mutated into within the five minutes they’d been sitting in the bakery, he might as well hold on to his fucked up reality for a little while longer. Xabi looked crazed, as if he had to have every single crumb on the dish or he’d die – he had eaten a whole pie, literally. Sergio’s slice came from a little old lady who said he was ‘a good looking young man who [looked] strong enough to carry an old ladies pick up order to her car’. After obliging, Sergio was rewarded with his slice of Strawberry-Rhubarb.

“I. Love. Pie.” Xabi had sounded like he was coming down off of an orgasm. Piece of Sergio wanted to look under the table to make sure his jeans were appropriate, the other piece told him if he did his pie would go missing. Xabi was always so calm and collected but throw pie in front of the man and BAM! Sergio was suddenly looking at Xabi like he needed a young priest and an old priest to be rid of whatever was possessing the Basque. “So. Tell me,” Xabi continued, finally placing his fork down, “how long have you and Fernando been, you know… fucking?”

Sergio winced at that word, that damned word. “Three years now.” He couldn’t help the underlying coldness in his otherwise flat tone of voice. Xabi just had to use that word to describe what was going on, what had been going on between him and Fernando. Sure, Fernando had told him that’s all they were doing and shortly after he had tried convincing himself the same. Still, it hurt to hear it in a voice that wasn’t his or Fernando’s.

Xabi was studying him looking for cues on what the central defender may have been feeling, simply anticipating what he would hear next and how to come up with a response. After all, it was his job to study people, figure out their intent based solely on body language, and then immediately play off of it. “So you two weren’t just fucking.” It became so obvious to Xabi, so quickly. He knew that look.

Sergio looked up at his teammate, face filled with guilt, scolding himself for thinking so loud. He looked around the vacant bakery to ensure it was just the two of them in the dining area. Clear. “Well, he was. I wasn’t.”

“Does Olalla know?” Xabi’s concern for Fernando’s wife was clear. “I mean, a year or less after she marries the guy and..."

“She found out recently, about a week or two ago. Called me and told me I was a homewrecker for ‘guilt-tripping’ Fernando into having sex with me. That’s bullshit, by the way.” Sergio could feel the anger resurging in him. “You know, he came on to me, not the other way around. He and Olalla were going through a lot of shit… ”

“Yeah, the first year of marriage is the hardest.” Xabi looked down at his fingernails and decided to pick at his cuticles. He seemed to be getting lost in his own thoughts. “It’s normal. Oh shit, please continue.”

Sergio had forgotten that Xabi was married. To a woman. _I’m going to lose this one,_ Sergio thought. He was the person all committed wedded people hated. “I was just trying to be a good friend, Xabi. You know, give him advice when he needed it, a shoulder when he needed one...”

“...a fuck when he needed one?” Xabi’s eyes snapped up to meet his, catching a glimpse of the blindsided facial expression of the Sevillan. The stunned expression faded quickly, though.

Sergio glared up at Xabi. This was not where he had expected this conversation to be going. He wanted somebody to talk to, especially since confiding in Cris had been destroyed when he… Not to mention, his feelings for Cristiano were up in the air, as well. He was a mess and he sure as fuck didn’t need Xabi to make him feel like any more shit. He was about to throw up his hands and send his pie to its end – to the floor – when Xabi spoke again.

“No, Sergio. I didn’t mean it like that.” Xabi hadn’t realized how harsh his voice had sounded, he couldn’t help it. He knew what Sergio was going through, more than he’d ever admit. “I mean, it’s great that you were there for him. Maybe you were just too available? I know this may seem nosy but I swear, it'll help you put things into perspective. Who came on to who?”

Sergio thought long and hard:

> _The room smelled like alcohol and Frito’s, it had smelled the same way he had left it. It was quiet, which was the reason why he had made his way back to it from Fernando and Villa’s; there were still about fifty people crammed in there. Xabi wasn’t in the room, he had assumed he was off with Iker and Xavi. He fell carelessly on the bed but nearly pissed himself as he realized there was something else in the bed with him. He quickly pulled back the covers to investigate – someone had been in the bed._
> 
> _“Fernando, what are you doing in my bed?”_
> 
> _“Mine was occupied by Pique and some bitch who probably has Chlamydia. She wanted me to join. No thank you. Stop pretending you give a damn and hand me back the covers.”_
> 
> _“Where am I supposed to sleep?”_
> 
> _Fernando curtly pulled him onto the bed, a task made easier by Sergio’s inebriated imbalance. “Like you mind.” Fernando whispered, abruptly yet softly placing his lips gently against the Sevillan’s. Mint, vodka, strawberries – the taste was distinct, unforgettable. He had never kissed a man before, had never kissed Fernando before. It was different, incomparable to the way he’d ever kissed anyone – any woman – before. It was more purposeful and more passionate, definitely more arousing._
> 
> _Hands slipped under his t-shirt exploring his torso, tracing the ridges of muscles on both his front and back. His breathing hitched as the hands took a firm grasp on his ass. After a while of harsh gropes and soft caresses, they slowly released him from their grip to slide forward to grab something else – something firmer and harder than his well-trained ass._
> 
> _He whimpered at the contact as Fernando hissed in his ear, “I want this,” his grip tightening around Sergio’s hardening member. “You want this? You want this.” He licked the outer shell of Sergio’s ear and that was it._

“He did. He definitely did.” Goosebumps had accompanied the recollection, seemingly sprinkled along his arms. If he had hair anywhere other than his head, he was sure they’d have stood up straight as he remembered the soft, alluring touches lightly against his skin. “I’m sorry Xabi.”

Xabi glanced up from the pie that was still sitting, untouched, in front of the Sevillan and into the younger man's almond brown eyes. “What? What do you have to be sorry for?”

“For fucking on your bed. After the World Cup final back in 2010. We thought it’d be better than messing up my sheets. You know. The first time we… Xabi?”

Xabi choked on the coffee he had started to drink and, as he removed the glass from his lips it became evident that his face had paled. “You sick mother fuckers.” As soon as he regained oxygen sufficient to breathe he forced it back out of him in a light chuckle. “Damn. So, I have a question then.” Xabi looked up, seeking permission of sorts and, after finding whatever it was he had been looking for, continued. “Did he know that you had feelings for him? Before he waltzed into your…my bed. Did he know that he would be able to get whatever it was he was after?”

“I don’t know what he knew. I hadn’t known his intentions until after the fact. I guess I knew how I was starting to feel and it was what I wanted. I guess I never thought of it as him… Are you saying I made myself easy?” Sergio’s voice was soft. He had never thought that he had emitted any notions of the sort. Then again, why else would Fernando have been so comfortable just inviting himself into his bed?

“An easy target for the sexually afflicted, yes. You said he was having problems with Olalla. Problems with the wife means you’re not getting any. Trust me, I know. I mean, what did he ever invest in you? You gave him advice and unconditional support, what did he ever give you? Like the gift that kept on giving; he became so accustomed to receiving that whenever you asked for something in return, he shut down completely.”

“What if the dynamic is changing?” Sergio had to admit that he was wholly optimistic now that Fernando was getting a divorce. Sure, he didn’t want to be the fallback, Plan B, the second option – but he still wanted to be an option. He still wanted a place in Fernando’s life.

“After three years?” Xabi scrunched his face in disbelief, as if Sergio had just vocalized a theory on there being alien life forms among us. “I don’t think change comes so easily. Even if Olalla throws in the towel, he hadn’t left her for you yet, emotionally speaking, what makes you think he will after three years? Is she the one changing the dynamic or is he?”

That was the root of his problem. “…Are you saying that I should just shrug my shoulders and move on?” Sergio looked down at his Strawberry-Rhubarb, thankful that he had decided to wait to indulge his taste buds until after this conversation.

“You say that as if you already have someone in mind.” Xabi was intrigued; Sergio hadn’t seemed as if someone just told him his chances of a healthy relationship with the man he claimed to love was bleak. He chuckled a bit to himself. He had only gone into the bathroom to piss off Sergio as he had heard the Sevillan lock the door five ridiculous times. He had no idea he’d end up discovering a dramatic affair. Now this… Interesting, indeed.

“Maybe? I don’t know, Xabi. See, this guy…” Sergio looked up at Xabi to make sure the red beard was listening, he seemed to be though he was looking at his pie again. “Well, I had feelings for him at one point in time. A little bit before Fernando and I… Well, I didn’t want to be gay. I thought it was something I could just avoid or even ‘overcome’. So I didn’t say anything, I didn’t do anything. Eventually, I settled for friendship and recently started confiding him about all of this shit with Fernando – besides I had been so certain he was straight. He listened and gave me advice, that’s it."

Xabi was thinking, made obvious by the wrinkle in his brow. “What makes you think anything’s there, then? I mean, you settled for friendship and he, well you said…”

_I shouldn’t tell him. I shouldn’t tell him. I shouldn’t tell him. Oh fuck._

“It’s Cristiano. I was helping Iker grab some of Cris’ things from his house last week to take over to Iker’s and he had left me a note… Kind of in the form of a suicide note. It was in there”

If Xabi was described as flabbergasted, it would be the understatement of the century. He took a while to regain his composure. “So you found out that Cris was in love with you? And you’re in love with Fernando? Who’s in love with Olalla? Holy fucking triangle. Or is it so fucked up it’s become a square?”

Sergio blushed and looked down. If his suspicions were right about Iker then it’d been a damned pentagon. He had quickly brushed those off though, deciding that Iker had only seemed so close to Cristiano due to the fact that Cristiano was under his care when he had tried to...

“You know what Sergio? Fuck it. All of it. I know it’s wrong on so many levels but just do what makes you happy. Fuck Olalla. Fuck Fernando. Don’t fuck Cris because he’s fucked himself up enough, but what the hell? Try it. Even if that means you’re whoring yourself around to attackers… What is that anyway? Too good for the defenders and midfielders?” Xabi chuckled but Sergio could see the edge. He was speaking out of regret, as if he had let something slip him by. “You need to figure out what’s best for you. Try things with Fernando. Try things with Cris. Just do it for yourself. And eat that fucking pie before I do!”

Sergio looked down at his pie, suddenly feeling inspired to try something different. And, oh, how delicious it was.

* * *

Xabi had left Sergio to his pie as his head suddenly swarmed with unrelenting thoughts of regret and what-if’s. He picked up his phone and dialed the number he had locked away in his memory.

“Hey, you’ve reached Steven. Leave it.”

He quickly hung up the phone, content with the simple sound of his voice. He remembered his first year of marriage. Trying to let go of a what-was that had transformed into a could-never-be… trying to replace it for a what-became. Steven had been his Fernando, only he hadn’t been Sergio. Had he? Xabi redialed the number again, only this time he had decided it necessary to leave a voicemail.

“Hey, Steven. It’s Xabi. I know you’re probably busy but I was hoping we could talk sometime. Look I’m really sorry and I know that it doesn’t justify anything but I just feel as if… I don’t know, sorry? For calling. For everything. I know you said that I didn’t listen to you when we were together and I know you often said I had a “hell of a way of showing you how much I care”… Hell, I guess getting married to Nagore, despite what you had told me and then running off to Madrid right after proved your point, huh?... I just. I’m so. So. Sorry.”

* * *

Iker woke up, confused and dazed. He looked around trying to figure out exactly when he had fallen asleep in the living room. He suddenly became aware of the warmth of another person’s body behind his, a familiar one. A faint smile ghosted across his face as he recalled the night before. He and Cris had stayed up talking for hours, making out like a couple of middle school kids who had just discovered kissing. Cris had told Iker about all of his firsts and then had asked Iker the same: Cris had his first kiss in elementary school, while Iker admitted to having to wait until high school for his, Cris’ first time was with a girl in the stands at Lisbon, Iker’s first time came shortly after his first kiss… hours and hours faded away seeming like only a few moments. Cris had talked about his life, his career and his family, in a way Iker had never heard him speak before and every time Cris would inquire the same of Iker. He was interested in him, he wanted to know him. That alone warmed Iker’s heart and breathed new life into his soul.

A small groan came from the Portuguese as he began to stir. “No. Send the fucking sun back, Iker.”

Iker stretched, sharing the sentiment. “I swear, I wish I could, Cris.” He would turn back time while he was at it, if only for a few hours more of the night before.

Cris had already been out of the hospital for a couple of days but the night before was the first time Iker had seen any revitalizations of what had happened between them before Cris had… Iker decided rather quickly that the deep conversation was worth the wait, though he didn’t know how much longer he could go with seeing the warmth of Cristiano’s smile fail in reaching his eyes.

 _Cris is trying. He’s definitely trying_ , he had told himself. The phone rang pulling Iker from his thoughts and another groan of discontent from the Portuguese. “Ring, ring, go away…” Cristiano yelled, exasperated at the new obstacle standing between himself and more sleep.

“Accept your fate, doll-face.” Iker chuckled, standing up to answer the phone while leaning down to place a light kiss on the number seven’s cheek bone. He glanced over at the clock before sending Cristiano to the shower as it was already 0913. He had wanted to push the boundaries, just in case he could, and follow the younger man but the phone reminded him why he had removed himself from the clutches of the warm body heat of Cristiano to begin with.

“…yeah? I mean, hello?”

“Hey, Iker! Lunch today?” Sergio’s unmistakable voice bubbled through the phone.

Iker had forgotten that Sergio had just gotten back from international duty; it’d be nice to have someone else for Cris to socialize with. Sure, the other teammates came by to check on things, the ones who had stayed behind on the international break, and it was nice when it wasn’t awkward – rarely. He was sure Cris was comfortable around Sergio, though. “Hell yeah, man. You want to meet up there around,” Iker glanced back over to the clock as if it would affect the time he chose, “1400?”

“Sounds great, man. I’ll see you guys there?”

“Definitely man but hey! I’m not going to tell Cris you’re going to be there, okay? He’s been apprehensive about being around a lot of the team members and, I mean, I know you guys are close and everything but just in case. I don’t want him backing out. I’m sure he could use a talk with someone other than me.” In truth, Iker didn’t mind being the only person Cris had wanted to speak with after he… He just didn’t think it could be healthy, for either of them.

“I completely understand, Iker. So I won’t text you then, I’ll just meet you there. You can text me, though, if you need to cancel or whatever”

“Alright, Sergio,” Iker looked down the hallway as he whispered the other man’s name, ensuring himself that Cristiano was in the shower. “See you in a bit. Love you man.”

 _This will be good for Cristiano. He’ll get to talk about football with Sergio. Sure, he didn’t want to watch Spain’s match with me but I’m sure it’s just because he misses playing himself. I mean, I miss it. Still this will be great. Sergio’s great with helping people forget about their problems and great at avoiding them altogether in conversations… I won’t have to worry about all of these questions being asked that may trigger any meltdowns, like ‘Are you okay’ or ‘Were you scared’_ – fucking Morata. _I won’t have to worry about anything being said about that night…_


	9. Salamar / Hate Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The attacker swiftly spun on his heels at the contact, though, and hastily threw Sergio off of him and against the bathroom stall. Nobody was watching them in there. He immediately blacked out but, had anyone else been in the room, they’d of told you that Sergio hadn’t even fought back. They’d of told you Sergio was lucky to be alive, lucky that Cristiano had stopped pounding in whatever part of Sergio’s body was closest to him after a minute (the longest of Sergio’s life) due to a sudden emotional breakdown. By the time Cristiano came to, he was crying in Sergio’s arms while Sergio cradled him and kept whispering his “I’m sorry” along with words of encouragement “Do what you have to do to me”, “Hate me as much as you need to.”_

He had arrived there about thirty minutes early (making him nearly forty-five minutes early by the Spanish standard), he was nervous and was going crazy at home. He had rehearsed with himself in front of the mirror, going over all the things he might say and various responses to all of the things Cristiano may do. That still didn’t prepare him when he saw Iker’s car headed for the parking garage. The portions of his heart that had survived the hell he had created within his life leapt up into his throat, clogging his airways, making him feel like he was suffocating. Maybe he hadn’t thought this through. Iker obviously still had no idea of what had happened between himself and Cristiano, what if Cristiano snapped and Iker found out? _What if, what if, what if…?_ Sergio’s thoughts trailed as he caught sight of Iker and only Iker walking up towards him. Maybe Cristiano hadn’t come after all? He looked past the goalie, verifying that there was no Cristiano in site. As Iker drew closer, Sergio couldn’t help but notice huge grin plastered on Iker’s face; he had seemed to have gone from firm and realistic to warm and optimistic within a week. If not anything else, Iker definitely looked – relieved? – to see him.

Sergio lightly chuckled to himself, _relief?_ That’s the last emotion he had expected to receive from anybody today. He quickly eradicated the thought and counted his blessings though, returning the smile with his own. Sergio was a lot of things but he certainly was not ignorant, he was aware that regardless of what may or may not happen today, he and Iker had only a limited number of these light, nonverbal exchanges left between them.

“Sergio!” Iker shouted, jogging the final few feet that kept him from the Sevillan. “Cris is still in the car fixing his hair,” Iker ran his fingers through his hair dramatically, drawing a chuckle out of Sergio, “but he should be finishing in a few... hours.” Iker laughed at his own crack and was delighted to hear Sergio lightly join. Perhaps he hadn’t really thought about it but he missed being around other people, too.

“Well, I see some of his fashion sense has rubbed off on you,” Sergio vocally noted, “thank God!” The fitted dark designer denims and striped scarf accent simply stated that Cristiano had interfered before Iker had walked out of the house, while Iker’s usual t-shirt had been replaced with a white button-up and fitted sweater. The ensemble as a whole screamed high fashion and Euro chic, something Sergio knew contradicted Iker’s t-shirt and polo philosophy. “You look ravishing.”

“Thank you, though I feel as if there's an insult in there. Cris pretty much had a fit when he saw me getting ready to walk out of the house…”

“Let me guess, faded light blue jeans and some striped polo?” Sergio glanced up to check the older man’s face for a response and laughed gently as he read the confusion. He shook his head in reproach, “You are so predictable, Iker.”

“I was anxious, Sergio.” Iker laughingly tried to justify himself, checking over his shoulder for Cristiano. It wasn’t a lie as he had been looking forward to this all morning. So much so that he had quite a difficult time keeping it to himself, especially when he was trying to convince Cristiano that he had a good reason to force him into putting on some 'decent' clothes. After Cristiano had climbed out of the shower, he opted to wear only a towel for the rest of the morning up until fifteen minutes before leaving the house. In truth, the only reason Iker didn’t directly tell him about their lunch plans was because he didn’t necessarily deem them as a ‘good reason’ to get the Portuguese into clothes. Hell, there was no 'good' reason whatsoever for Cristiano to be in clothes, in his personal opinion.

“I was just happy to finally be getting that man,” Iker threw his head back slightly over his shoulder, using it to motion towards the parking garage, “out of the house.” As well as myself.

“Sure, Iker. That’s exactly why you had thrown on a set of your finest faded clothes.” Sergio teased.

Iker simply laughed before his temples reminded him of the headache he had accumulated in restraining himself from jumping on Cristiano’s half-naked form that morning. Cristiano had been popping Tylenol like Pez Candy though to silence his wrist pains up until they had ran out, just as Iker's head had started to throb.

“Fuck me.” Iker groaned, massaging his temples; his head had gone from two to seven on the pain scale within seconds. “Hey, Sergio? I’m going to jog over to the little market a few blocks down, I need to grab some Tylenol. You guys grab the table, okay?”

Iker had darted off before he ever got the chance to catch Sergio’s apprehensive facial expression and was too far away to hear by the time the Sevillan started pleading for him to stay.

Sure, Sergio had been comfortable with getting some one-on-one time with Cristiano until he’d realized he’d be getting just that. He hadn’t thought twice about what he had done to Cristiano since he had done it (except when he was listening to the delusional words of the man in the hospital only a week ago) but suddenly there Cris was, leisurely strolling out of the parking garage looking around at everything with almost a child-like interest... and there it was – the guilt, the remorse, the regret, the shame. It was all there, surging through him for only the second time since he had taken advantage of the Portuguese man.

Cristiano hadn’t noticed Sergio until he had carelessly walked within arm’s length of the Sevillan. As soon as he caught sight of him, Cristiano’s throat closed up and his heart raced, his whole body went numb – he was literally having a panic attack. He stumbled backwards and nearly threw himself into the oncoming traffic but Sergio grabbed him by the wrist to pull him back to safety. The contact forced the last of Cristiano’s CO2 out of him in the form of three weak, breaking words: “Don’t. Touch. Me.” He snatched his arm away and spun around to leave but lost his balance as he became disoriented. He stumbled to the ground, light-headed and struggling to breathe.

A crowd had started to form around Sergio and Cristiano, not really helping with Cristiano’s sudden feelings of claustrophobia, when an older woman burst through, small boy in tow, holding out an inhaler. She shoved the inhaler in Cris’ mouth, pressing down until the vapor hit the back of the number seven’s throat, opening his airways. Cristiano’s body greedily took in the steroid and wanted more but he was already trying to get back to his feet to create distance between himself and Sergio.

“Oh, no dear. You need to sit down and relax to recompose yourself,” the woman warned, taking Cristiano’s arm with the inescapable grip all mother’s seemed to possess to pull him back down to the pavement. “Just breathe, honey.” She pressed the button a second time, bringing more relief to Cristiano’s lungs. After a few moments of warm smiles and big breaths, she helped Cristiano get to his feet. “There you go. You’re already looking so much better. Are you boys eating at Salamar?”

Sergio simply nodded, looking down at the small boy who had been wearing Cristiano’s jersey to offer him a kind smile. Big mistake.

“I didn’t know Cristiano had asthma.” The little boy’s eyes looked as if they would pop out of his skull.

“I don’t think that’s what that…”

“I have asthma, too." The little boy interrupted. "It's kind of cool that Cristiano and I have something in common. I mean, asthma stinks but..." The little boy trailed off into silence but not for long. "I love you guys so much. I’ve never missed a game, if I’m not in the stands, then I’m in front of the television cheering for you guys. Cristiano is my favorite attacker and you are my favorite defender. You know how Madrid drew Manchester for the tie last season?”

Sergio could’ve sworn the little Ronaldo said all of that in one damned breath. “Of course?”

“Remember the second leg of the tie?”

“Of course,” Sergio groaned. How could he have forgotten?

“Well, my dad had said that the only reason why Madrid progressed and not Manchester was because of Nani’s red card. But I said, “Papa, only Real Madrid players are on the score sheet.” And it was funny because even though it was two to one you had the own goal. So really, Manchester only scored one goal for the tie.” The little boy was relentless and speaking as if he had just swallowed a gallon of pure sugar.

“Well, what do you know? It would seem as if you are absolutely correct.” Sergio didn’t want to come across as rude to the little boy but really? He had been grateful for Nani’s red simply because it had seemed to have distracted the world from his own goal. Besides, he had more pressing things to worry about… Sergio looked over to Cristiano who was taking another puff of the inhaler, the color had already started coming back to the older man’s face.

“So what is it like to play with Cristiano and Kaka?” The mini Cristiano asked, excitedly looking over to the man Sergio was sure was his idol. “I know you don’t really get to play with Kaka anymore but you get to train with him. That must be pretty cool, I would love to play with them…”

“Marcus! Leave Mr. Ramos alone. I’m sure he just came here to have a quiet lunch with his friends, love. They obviously have enough stressing them out, they don’t need your constant badgering at the moment. Now,” she turned and looked at Cristiano warningly; she had a face that told him it was best not to argue with her, “let’s get you inside.” She handed the arm she had been holding firmly over to Sergio. “He’s still a bit shaky, honey. Try not to let him exert himself any more than he needs to.”

Sergio nodded, though, he could immediately feel Cristiano’s body reacting to the forced contact: the tremors could be felt making their way down from his neck seeming to go down to his toes, goose bumps started to form on his usually smooth arms. Sergio made sure he was only lightly touching the older man, not grabbing at him with too much vigor but just enough to catch him should he fall.

The woman with the miniature Cristiano impersonator he now knew to be ‘Marcus’ followed them inside as they made their way to one of the booths. She guided Cristiano to the inside and directed Sergio to sit down right next to him. She handed the inhaler to Sergio. “I had just picked this up for Marcus just this morning, it has Advair in it so it should help should his throat close up again. Three or four puffs and he’ll be as good as new.” She smiled down at Sergio as she gave him the instructions.

“Thank you so much ma’am.” Sergio looked over to Marcus and smiled. “How would you like tickets to El Clasico’s? You and your mother can sit in Cristiano’s VIP box for the home game in March and next month you can spit on the soil of Camp Nou?”

“Really? You mean it?!” The little boy seemed as if he was going to explode from all of his excitement. “This is the best day ever! Can I momma? Please?”

“As long as you keep doing well in school, my love, I don’t see why not.” His mother replied while leaning forward to write down her information for Sergio.

“Alright! This is the best day ever! No one’s ever going to believe this, it’s so cool. First, I got to meet you guys and now I get to go to El Clasico! Both of them. I knew you guys were awesome!”

“Thank you so much. This means the world to him, all of this.” The boy's mother conveyed with all of the affability she could muster.

Sergio respectfully rose to his feet and pulled the woman into a tight embrace, simply because he knew Cristiano would do the same if he had the energy to. “No, thank you. For everything, Ms...?”

“Claudia, Claudia Melina.” The woman replied into his shoulder just before the embrace broke. She gave Sergio a gentle squeeze on the shoulder before telling Cristiano to take care of himself one last time. “Try to take it easy, love. I know it’s not easy to sit around and find satisfaction in seemingly small feats but sometimes those are the ones that bring us the most strength. Come on, Marcus. Your father is probably worried sick.”

“Goodbye, Sergio! I’ll see you next month!” Marcus yelled as he had started walking backwards towards the door.

“Bye Marcus,” Sergio called out as the little boy was dragged away by his mother.

“Momma, he knows my name, momma. He knows my name!”

Sergio smiled again just before glancing back over to check on Cristiano. His smile faded as he reaized Cristiano still hadn’t completely recovered from his attack outside.

Cristiano released an audible groan as the nauseating feelings filled his stomach and swarmed around his mind. He was sure Iker had known that Sergio would be here but why hadn’t he bothered telling him? Warning him? Why would he, though? Iker didn’t know anything was wrong between himself and Sergio. Cristiano folded his arms on the table in front of him, resting his head on them in an attempt to avoid any acknowledgment from Sergio. It didn’t matter what he did, though, Sergio would still be there.

“Cristiano, look…” Sergio started trying to work himself up to say all of the things he had rehearsed.

“Don’t fucking talk to me.” Cristiano’s voice was hushed but stern.

“Fine, then I won’t.” Sergio looked down but decided to speak anyway, even if his words were merely falling on deaf ears. “Nothing I could ever say would justify what I did… I know that. I know that you and I will probably never be friends again. What I did was wrong…”

“Telling me was wrong. Telling me it was you was fucking wrong. I would’ve taken the comfort of the lies over this shit.”

“I know why it hurt you so much to know but I couldn’t lie to you, Cris. I thought you had said you’d forgiven me?”

“It’s easy to ‘forgive’ when you’re prepared to die, asshole. I didn’t know Iker would…” Cristiano stopped as the tears welled up in his eyes. “…wait, how the fuck did you know that?” Cristiano lifted his head, though it felt heavier than it had been when he had first put it to rest against his arms. “How the fuck did you know that I’d…”

Sergio reached into his jacket and pulled the envelope from his inner pocket. “I had helped Iker move some of your stuff from your house over to his just before you had gotten out of the hospital.”

Cristiano looked around the restaurant haphazardly, he hadn’t even realized where Iker had taken him to. He suddenly felt embarrassed, ashamed. He wanted to rip the letter out of Sergio’s hands and force the Sevillan to drink bleach to be rid of the memory of everything he had read.

“You wanted me to eat here for you… So here I am.” Sergio looked down at the table playing with the placemats.

“Hey guys, welcome. What can I get for you?”

The waitress seemed to float up to the table on a cloud. Cristiano already didn’t like her, though he did breathe a sigh of relief. One of the reasons he loved Salamar – it was small, local, you didn’t have to worry about making an impression on the staff all in the name of your reputation. The other reason he had loved this place was suddenly the reason he felt like he had to get out of here as soon as possible. The other reason he had loved this place was currently ordering for him.

“Yes, he is probably going to start off with the Galician octopus…?” Sergio looked over at Cristiano who had plopped his head back down. Cristiano felt the eyes on him and merely gave the waitress a thumbs up. Sergio continued, “While I, myself, would like the Cod Croquettes and if you could bring an order of the the Cockles I’m fairly certain Iker would enjoy them…” he finished pointing to the empty side of the booth.

The waitress scribbled it all down, the warm smile not wavering once. “And for your main courses?”

Cristiano didn’t even bother looking at the menu, he knew Sergio would know what he was about to order, damned Sevillan knew this place like the back of his hand. Cristiano let out a small sigh of defeat, as much as he wanted to leap over the table and head for the door, he was starving and weakened thanks to his little episode. Iker had forced him to eat a light breakfast just before telling him that he was ‘getting out of this damned house for lunch.’ Iker, where the fuck was Iker? Cristiano lifted his head and looked around. No sign of the older man. Another audible groan as he returned his head to his arms for the third time.

“I would like the hake with stuffed mushrooms and prawns. Cris is probably going to eat the red lobster over steamed rice…?” He looked over to where Cristiano had his head down receiving yet another thumbs up. “And Iker always seems to order those damned meatballs when he can.”

The waitress chuckled, earning a hidden sneer from Cristiano, before scurrying off to put it through the system. Fuck her and her happiness.

Iker walked in and saw that Sergio had already placed their orders. He noticed there was still tension at the table, though Sergio and Cristiano had seemed to have taken seats next to one another. Another lap or two around the block should do it, he thought as he stepped back out the door.

“You weren’t supposed to come here with me. I think you kind of missed the point of it being a suicide note.”

“No, I get that. There was something in there I didn’t get, though. Why you had never told me before that you had lo…”

“Don’t. Fucking. Say. It.” Cristiano’s face turned to a crimson red, whether it was due to embarrassment or frustration he didn’t know. “I had those feelings before I knew you had…” Cristiano’s voice broke but he was tired of fighting it. “I had those feelings up until a few hours before you had showed up at my door to destroy my life. I’m fairly certain I wrote that in its past tense form.”

The guilt faded and Sergio let out an exasperated sigh, he was tired of this route and felt as if he would never get through to Cris if he kept pushing him this way. He gently placed the palm of his hand to the back of Cristiano’s neck.

Cristiano shuddered as his body became paralytic.

> _…he actually wasn’t thinking about…the physical damage. Just the rough hand that was tightly gripping his neck_

The memory poured over him elevating his heart rate, forcing his breathing beyond control yet again. He felt the cold sweat falling as if it were pouring down from his hairline. He suddenly felt as if he was still curled in the corner of the showers of the Ciudad.

“Something like love doesn’t just die within a few hours,” Sergio whispered heavily into Cristiano’s ear…

> _…he felt hot breath, a tongue licking his skin, an unrecognizable voice whispering little nothings into his ear. He wanted nothing more than to get away but he couldn't…_

He’d make a scene.

> _“...Stop. Stop. Please.”_

"...Stop. Stop. Please."

Sergio removed his hand from the older man’s neck, as soon as he was sure Cristiano’s mind was where he needed it, and placed it gently on his thigh. “I promise,” he whispered, letting his lips graze the outer shell of Cristiano’s ear, “I didn’t do it because I had wanted to hurt you, Cris. I would never want to hurt you. If I had known you loved me, somebody loved me, I would’ve never been in that locker room that evening. I just felt so helpless. And you’re the only person who had ever given me control, let me take control, I guess I just went primal and I’m so,” Sergio looked but fought the urge to kiss the high cheekbone of the Madeiran due to their current surroundings, “so sorry.”

“You still had no right to just…” Cristiano’s voice was barely audible. His anxiety and emotional pain seemed to have taken it while the panic attacks had drained him. He just hoped that Iker would be back soon, as in right now.

“I know, Cris,” Sergio gently placed his forehead against side of Cristiano’s face. “You’d always been there for me. You never let me down.” Sergio sadistically traced Cristiano’s inner thigh with his middle finger. “You had always comforted me before, in any way that I had needed. I guess I just wrongfully assumed you’d do the same this time?”

“…you can’t just externalize your feelings and throw them on me, Sergio. And you… you never did that before. We had never…” Cristiano whispered, unsure of how he was feeling at the moment. He didn’t know if he was scared or… He was just confused and seemed to feel a peak of vulnerability around Sergio.  _Iker, where the fuck are you?_

“I know, Cristiano. I was wrong and I never deserve to be forgiven, I deserve to burn alive in the darkest pits of hell, I admit that. But can’t you see that I only did what I did because I…?” Sergio knew this was a long shot, he had seen terrible people do this in the movies to weasel their way out of a tight spot and it had worked. Sure, what he was about to say wasn’t necessarily true but he had to do whatever it took to ensure that Cristiano was still an option for him. “Because I loved you.”

“You better have ordered me my meatballs!” Iker shouted as he approached the two, sliding into the booth just across from Cristiano. He offered the Portuguese man a smile who only returned it halfway. “You alright, Cris?”

_Oh, dear sweet oblivious Iker._ “He had a panic attack.” Sergio answered for him, smiling over towards Cristiano as if nothing had happened.

Iker's face fell to concern as he checked over Cristiano again. He did seem paler and he definitely seemed to be coming fresh off of a case of cold sweats. Cristiano only had panic attacks when he was reminded of the ‘unspeakable’ that had occurred in the locker rooms, unless he was deteriorating again and he hadn’t noticed – again? No, not again.

Cristiano simply nodded in agreement and for the second time within two weeks, he wondered how he had lost control of his life. He was under the conservatorship of a person only a few years older than himself and he was nearly ready to forgive someone for raping him simply because he had told him the three words he’d been dying to hear from him over the past four years. “I, uh, I have to go to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

Iker watched as Cristiano slipped away trying to figure out what he was missing, what was setting off Cristiano’s panic attacks. “I can’t figure him out, Sergio.”

_That's okay because I’ve got him all figured out._ “You want me to talk to him some more? I’m sure I can figure it out. I mean, you’re probably too close to…” Sergio tried not to seem obvious. He was undeniably suspicious about the relationship between Iker and Cristiano, he was curious about what Iker knew. He mostly wanted to talk to Cris some more. He had him right where he wanted him.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I mean, I’ve been with him since the get go so I guess I see anything as better than seeing him…” Iker closed his eyes wishing away the memory.

> _Cristiano was sitting in the corner, clutching his knees to his chest, wearing nothing but a towel that had been carelessly wrapped around his waist and a blank facial expression. He looked like he was in a trance or some state of shock. He had bruises all over his body and there was blood all over the floors and shower bench. Iker was horrified, it looked as if somebody had used, what he had assumed to be Cris', blood to create splatter art._

“Yeah, I guess I am too close. You should go talk to him, now. He didn’t look too good when he left the table but what the hell do I know.”

Sergio placed a reassuring hand on his captain’s shoulder. “He’ll be okay, Iker. Just breathe. You don’t have to do this alone.” Sergio offered him another small sympathetic smile and made his way to the bathroom.

“You have no fucking idea how much you mean to me, Sergio.” Iker called out just before the Sevillan slipped out of hearing range.

Sergio smiled to himself as he made his way into the bathroom. He saw Cristiano standing in front of the mirror, seeming to just stare beyond what was in front of him. Cristiano hadn’t seemed to have noticed Sergio’s presence, encouraging Sergio to quietly slip behind the number seven and wrap his arms around the small waist…

The attacker swiftly spun on his heels at the contact, though, and hastily threw Sergio off of him and against the bathroom stall. Nobody was watching them in there. He immediately blacked out but, had anyone else been in the room, they’d of told you that Sergio hadn’t even fought back. They’d of told you Sergio was lucky to be alive, lucky that Cristiano had stopped pounding in whatever part of Sergio’s body was closest to him after a minute (the longest of Sergio’s life) due to a sudden emotional breakdown. By the time Cristiano came to, he was crying in Sergio’s arms while Sergio cradled him and kept whispering his “I’m sorry” along with words of encouragement “Do what you have to do to me”, “Hate me as much as you need to.”

“I just… I don’t understand, Sergio. I loved you…” Cristiano was sobbing on the bathroom floor, choking on the words as they came. “I would’ve let you, let you have me if it’s what you had wanted. I would’ve. But you just… You just...”

“I took advantage of your selflessness and I regret everything that I ever did to hurt you. I swear I do, Cris. I’m not asking you to forgive me or love me again. I mean, you have Iker now, right?” Sergio offered just before breathing in the scent of Cristiano’s hair, the lust driven sadism threatening his mind again.

“Iker. I should get back to Iker,” Cristiano softly voiced forcing himself to his feet.

Sergio followed suite and promptly got himself in an upright position and went to head out the door.

“There’s blood all over the floor and all over your face, Sergio.” Cristiano reminded the defender as he repositioned himself in front of the mirror, fixing himself merely out of respect for the other patrons of Salamar.

Sergio looked down to his hands, nope no blood there and there seemed to be the only place that mattered to him. “Fuck it,” he told himself walking out to the full dining area, drawing a hush from the entire restaurant. “Iker!” Sergio shouted as he approached the table. “Who would’vemthought an attacker could attack anything other than a ball so aggressively?” Before Iker even had a chance to ask anything, Sergio's phone started ringing and flashing the name "Fernando". "I have to take this, Iker. Be right back, don't eat my Croquettes," Sergio warned before heading out the front door towards the street.

_ What the fuck was that? _


	10. Blurred Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I loved you, Sergio.” Cristiano whispered, still lost in thought._
> 
> _“I think you still do.”_

“Iker, I’m not a fucking child! Having you watch my every move is enough as it is but listening to your incessant nagging…? Give me a damn break! I’m a grown ass man!” Cristiano slammed his glass down on the table top, forcing drops of brown liquid to spill over the sides. He was fuming? No, that would be an understatement.

Iker groaned; he was simply going through the motions as he was still exhausted from the last time Cristiano snapped like this – yesterday. This argument had seemingly become a daily thing since their lunch at Salamar a couple of days ago. Maybe he had slightly overreacted at the restaurant but how was he supposed to react after watching Sergio walk out of the bathroom all bloodied and torn to bits, no explanation from either of them. “Cris, I was just pointing out that you’ve already had five drinks and it’s only,” Iker glanced down at his watch and released a sigh of frustration, Cristiano had only started drinking [for the day] at 1845, “1938. You’ve gotten excessive with your…”

“I can fucking count, douchebag.” Cristiano started chewing on his bottom lip, his blood was boiling and he ~~didn’t want to~~ had to keep himself from saying something he’d regret. It had seemed as if Iker had obligated himself to keeping an eye on Cris at all times, since their lunch at Salamar, and – given what had transpired and his and Sergio’s mutual reluctance to share with Iker exactly what had gone down – he understood why Iker would be concerned. Hell, Iker had stormed into the bathroom, shook him by the shoulders, and asked him if he wanted to be to be committed. That was logical. But this stemmed from nothing, this crossed the line. “What I do isn’t any of your business, Iker!”

The Spaniard stood up from his barstool in a challenging manner, letting Cristiano know that this was a fight that he wasn’t – would never – back down from. Sure, he had acknowledged and accepted that Cristiano would never be the same since he had found him in the locker room that first night but that hadn’t stopped him from trying to bring him back around. Of course he knew, after finding Cris covered in blood on those floors for a second time, a return would be past praying for but he prayed anyway. He recognized that Cristiano would always have that extra weight on his shoulders but he would be damned if this was Cristiano’s glorious resolution.

“What you happen to be doing is destructive! That’s why I’m here, it is my concern, my business! Damn it, Cris! I’m here to protect you from yourself!” Iker quickly approached the Portuguese and pried the bottle of bourbon from his tight grasp – maybe Cristiano should’ve been a goalie with this kind of grip – and made his way to the sink. “This! This is what killed your father! Do you remember that? Isn’t that the reason you had only reserved drinking for special occasions? Huh?” He poured the already opened bottle down the drain.

“Fuck you,” Cristiano managed to choke out between the sobs that had started at the mention of his father. “You have no right to talk about my father!”

“…and you have no right to kill yourself, whether it be by a knife or a bottle.” Iker snapped back viciously.

“I don’t need this shit.” Cristiano grabbed his keys from the key holder, cursing Iker under his breath. Fuck him, he doesn’t know me or my family. He had no right to talk about my father, mine. “You’re just another person who wants to exert his dominance over me. Fuck that and fuck you.”

“Cris,” the door slammed shut before Iker could finish his sentence, leaving his words to bounce around the empty foyer, “I’m just scared!” _I’m losing you with each glass._

* * *

His vision had been made blurry from both the tears and the alcohol but he was too angry to think rationally, so he pressed down on the accelerator a little bit harder. How could Iker not understand? He was simply trying to numb the pain and the disappointment, the hurt of the betrayal. Iker didn’t care about what he felt though; Iker just wanted him alive. His state of mind and the how he chose to live it (minus the “by way of alcohol” route he had taken) were irrelevant, it seemed. Cristiano released a sigh of relief as he made out the words of the Serrano 41 night club but quickly retracted it as he made out the mass of people waiting to go in. Sure, he wouldn’t have to wait but he’d have to regain his composure if only for a minute or two, for all those damned cameras that would be pulled out of purses and pockets. He reached up to pull his sunglasses off of his visor, bloodshot eyes never flattered anyone, and covered his eyes as he pulled up to the valet.

“Cristiano! I love you!” “Oh my God! It’s Cristiano!” “Messi, Messi!” “Marry me, Cristiano!” “Kill yourself! Oh wait, you sucked at that too!” “Have my babies, Cristiano!” “I love you!” “Hala Madrid!” “CR7!”

As the valet caught his keys, the bouncers helped push him past the line that had suddenly started pressing forward. He was guided to a vacant VIP area that he quickly left for the bar. He didn’t want to lounge around and party he wanted needed to find more liquor – fast.

The music was pumping hard and loud but that still didn’t do enough to drown out his inebriated thoughts, it didn’t numb the pain of the memories. He forced his way through the mass of people but he still felt alone. His identity was masked by the darkness but he still felt as if people could see him – what he had been reduced to, what he had done, why he had done it.

> _“I took advantage of your selflessness and I regret everything that I ever did to hurt you. I swear I do, Cris. I’m not asking you to forgive me or love me again. I mean, you have Iker now, right?”_

_Fuck Iker. And fuck you, too. You guys are the same. Why else would Iker want conservatorship over me knowing all too well that I’m fucked up in the head? He wants something from me, obviously._

“Gin and Tonic.” Cristiano demanded as he approached the counter. He pulled out his wallet and threw his debit card down on the bar top.

The bartender took a step back, straining her eyes to recognize the man that was standing before her. “But your Cristiano Ronaldo. You don’t…”

“...and you don’t know how to do your fucking job!” Cristiano shot back. He was tired of hearing people tell him what he did and what he didn’t do, what he should and what he shouldn’t do. Fuck them, they didn’t live his life. They didn’t know shit about what he was going through. “2 ounces of gin? 5 ounces of tonic water? One wedge of lime? Gin and Tonic.”

The bartender angrily picked up the card and furiously punched the numbers into the system and practically threw the card back at Cristiano. Wise ass.

“Make that two.”

Cristiano cringed at the sound of the familiar voice coming from just behind him. What the hell is he doing here? Can’t he see I’m already miserable enough?

“Iker called me.” Sergio spoke again, as if he could hear the thoughts of the forward (which would be something because Cristiano could barely hear himself think, the reason he had chosen to come here to begin with). “He was really worried, told me you might be here.” The Sevillan reached across the bar top and grabbed the two drinks, motioning for an open tab in the process.

Cristiano scoffed, his inebriated mind under the impression that Iker wanted to simply make sure he was alive. “Why the fuck would he send you if he was worried about me?” He threw back his drink and emptied the glass in two long gulps.

Sergio motioned for the bartender to make another concoction and slid it over to the Portuguese as soon as it was placed on the counter.

“Ironic, huh? He’s worried, thinks I have a problem with this,” Cristiano’s gaze cut down to the clear liquid he had in hand, “so he sends my actual problem to check up on me. Isn’t that some shit?” Another empty glass in record time.

Sergio tapped the bar top earning, a questioning look from the bartender. Fan-fucking-tastic. The Sevillan promptly searched the club for a more discreet place to finish their conversation. “You have a VIP area Cris? I mean, do you want to talk there or do you want to add the press to the list of people who know all of your business?” He glared at the bartender as she slid a fresh Gin and Tonic over to Cristiano.

Cristiano quietly turned and headed for the door, drink in hand. _I am not doing this shit._

“Whoa, Cris! Can we just talk? Iker’s really…” Sergio called out after him as he hurriedly snatched at the Portuguese’s bicep.

“...worried. I heard you. I’m not deaf, fuckshit.” Cristiano interrupted, shaking himself free of the Sevillan’s grasp. “What do you want, Sergio? I know you’re not here because Iker’s worried about me.”

“Can we talk somewhere more…,” he glanced back at the bartender who was still watching them intently. “Don’t you ever do your job?”

“No, she doesn’t.” Cristiano quickly answered for her, still bitter over her assumption of him, just before he spun on his heels and began walking again. “Stupid bitch,” he mumbled as he pushed through a group of “we can stop where ever we please, who gives a shit if we’re in the way” women, “-es. Damn.”

Sergio was ready to stop him again until he realized that Cristiano had started making his way towards the exclusive areas rather than going through the doors. Sergio followed suite, though Cris seemed to pick up his pace as they made their way through the dancing patrons (probably in an attempt to lose him, he thought) but the Sevillan showed him why he was one of the top defenders in the world – he never lost his mark (okay maybe he did sometimes but tonight would not be one of those times).

Cristiano gave the bouncer posted outside of his area a look of exasperation as he made his way to the all-white sofa, placing his drink down on the marble table. He plopped down releasing a sigh of relief that promptly transformed to a groan as he realized that he hadn’t lost Sergio, the defender was still there. On second thought, he’d probably be better off downing that gin now.

Sergio watched wide-eyed as Cristiano downed his third serving of gin in one breath and waved over a server, quietly requesting a fourth for the Portuguese winger. _No wonder why Iker’s losing his mind._

“What are you doing here, Sergio?” Cristiano asked indolently as he licked what remained of his gin off of his lips. “If Iker is so concerned then where the hell is he?

“I’m not sure. All I know is that Iker called me and was…”

“Spare me the bullshit, Sergio.” Cristiano interjected as he allowed a half smile to form on his face, though he was nowhere near happiness. The Sevillan was too snazzy to simply be performing a courtesy check. Either he had other plans that were currently being interrupted or...

“You know why I’m here, Cris. I know I can never take back what I’ve done but if I can prevent any more damage… Please don’t scoff, Cris. I’m being serious and you have every right to patronize me or to not believe me but it’s the truth.”

“That’s total bullshit and you know it,” Cristiano laughed condescendingly, alcohol forcing its way through his veins. “Why are you really here? I’m getting tired of asking... Have you always been this difficult, Sergio? Or am I just that easy?”

Sergio winced and took a gulp of his gin as Cristiano’s fresh one arrived; Cristiano was choosing the harshest of ways to remind him of what he had done: intoxicated puns laced with hurt, a meaningless smile in the place of the pain. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I mean, as okay as possible.”

“I’m not about to kill myself if that’s what you’re asking.” Cristiano replied sluggishly, pushing the ice within his already emptied glass into circles.

_How the fuck is Cris still functioning?_ Sergio looked down at the white marble table as if he’d find a sticky note with the answer written on it, everything he was supposed to say right there.

“Then why are you drinking so much?” It wasn’t really a question as knew why the winger was drinking, he knew Cris wanted to put an end to the anguish he had caused him. He simply wondered if Cristiano knew that’s why he was drinking. That’s not why he was here, though.

“You know what, SeSe? I think I hate you. I really do.” Cristiano’s voice was distant, his thoughts were diluted, and his judgment was beyond misguided. He was finally starting to think about something other than how much he’d been hurting - yay? “I think I hate Iker, too.”

The defender grimaced at the sound of his nickname (it seemed to hold so much irony now) but gently placed his drink down on the table. He slowly released a light chuckle as he became conscious of Cris’ transition from buzzed to drunk. “You have every right to hate me, Cristiano. You don’t hate Iker, though. I think it’s quite the opposite actually...”

“No, Sergio,” Cris’ eyes went wide and he leaned in towards the Sevillan, “I do. I hate him. He’s just like you, he just wants to control me.”

Sergio sighed and shook his head. “I never wanted control over you, Cristiano. At least I don’t think that’s what it was all about...”

“Then what was it about? Tell me, Sergio. I’m listening.”

Cris had repositioned himself to where he could hear better over the loud music and now sat directly beside Sergio. Sergio fidgeted, reminding himself that had Cristiano been sober, he would have never had this chance.

“I – uh – I.” Sergio stuttered pulling his phone out of his pocket. Cristiano shot the Spaniard a look of confusion as the defender messed with the buttons on his phone and handed the device over to him as the voicemail started to play.

> “Sergio! It’s Olalla. I know what you’ve been doing with my husband, to my husband. You better not ever fucking talk to him again. You can’t just guilt trip someone into fucking you, you nasty fucking home wrecker. Who the fuck do you think you are? You think that fucking club would really support a gay athlete. Keep this shit up and we’ll find out!”

Cristiano quickly covered his mouth attempting to hold back his laughter as Sergio looked over his shoulder paranoid someone may have heard, though the volume of the music from the club had forced Cristiano to draw the phone to his ear.

“I’m so sorry, dude.” Cristiano laughed out, tongue made thick by his inebriated state. “I was so in love with you,” Cristiano stopped gasping for air and continued his chuckled confession as soon as he replenished his air supply, “and he was hurting you. I thought I was doing you a favor. Some bitch, huh?”

Sergio’s wrinkled his forehead. Cristiano had told Olalla? That’s how she had found out? But…

“…but what does she have to do with me?” Cristiano had stopped laughing suddenly.

For a drunk he’s still got rationality down. Sergio glanced over at Cristiano, still thinking about the irony of the whole situation. “Uhm, well. I received that voicemail and, you know, got frustrated and wanted to shoot a couple of free kicks with you.”

“You have some poor form, Ser…” Cristiano stopped as a loudly dressed woman approached them. Her lipstick was smeared all over the place and her hair looked as if she had placed her head in the toilet and flushed. That’s what the American’s must have meant when they had talked about tornados and trailer parks.

“Oh my God! Can I have a picture with you guys?!?”

Sergio glanced over at the winger then back at the woman. Clearly, not everyone handles drunkenness as well as Cris. “Sorry, Cristiano’s not feeling too well, tonight. We were just leaving. Come on, Cris.” Then again, it WAS Cris.

“Oh,” the woman dressed he face with the ugliest pout the two had ever seen. “Pretty please?”

“Sorry,” _We’re not sorry._ “Cristiano, come on.” Sergio extended his hand towards the Portuguese who was still staring at the “loud” woman with wide eyes, a furrowed brow, and a dropped mouth. “Cris!”

Cristiano swatted at the Sevillan’s hand and attempted to stand on his own, succumbing to his impairment as soon as his legs were required to support him. “These,” Cristiano mumbled pointing to his legs, “these are broken.”

“No, but this is.” Sergio laughingly pointed to Cris’ head before pulling him to his feet wrapping his arms around the winger to continue supporting him.

“Where’s Iker?” Cristiano asked hazily as Sergio guided him through the crowd. “If he cared he’d be here. Can you take me to my car, Sergio?”

Sergio shook his head. “You have to be sober to drive, Cris and you, you are far from that.” Sergio pushed outside and handed the valet his ticket as quickly as possible.

“You definitely had a drink in there,” Cristiano defiantly pointed out.

“I had half a drink, not four, er, nine” Sergio corrected himself as he recalled his conversation with Iker. Jesus, Cristiano. Sergio looked over at Cristiano’s wobbly form trying to figure out if a hospital visit was in order. He seemed fine, intoxicated but miraculously ‘okay’ for the most part.

“Come on.” Sergio breathed out, motioning for the number seven to follow him as the valet pulled up with his Porsche.

“Please, just don’t take me to Iker’s.” Cristiano pleaded as he fell into the car.

“Well, where would you rather go?”

* * *

Cristiano fell through the doorway, laughing “I guess that was the key.”

“I suppose it was,” Sergio lightly chuckled, glancing inside Cristiano's home nervously. The memory of his last visit hit him hard and suddenly. He had to hold on to the door frame just to keep himself from collapsing to the floor.

> _“Indulge me, then Sergio. How horrible of a life form are you?” His voice was light, laced with both concern for his friend and curiosity._
> 
> _Sergio leaned in towards Cristiano, breathing in to draw in the other man’s scent for one last time. He tried to whisper in his ear but he found himself struggling to form words, the right words._
> 
> _Sergio thoughtlessly leaned in [...] to brush his lips down the Portuguese’s jaw line and, as he felt Cris’ soft lips grazing his, leaned in a bit more until their lips were pressed together in a soft and gentle kiss._
> 
> _Sergio draped one arm, his left, lightly across Cristiano’s spine, allowing his right arm to roam free. He sustained the kiss, gently tracing those wrists that had once been bruised for leverage. He gently traced the thigh he had bruised in a fit of frustration._
> 
> _He could feel Cristiano slowing down the kiss as he traced the cheek bone he had bruised when Cris had tried to speak. As he finished tracing the line across Cristiano’s chest, from armpit to armpit, and guided his hand to the ribcage he had launched his foot into, Cristiano froze._
> 
> _Sergio mustered the strength to look up and saw his face was filled with confusion, as if he were trying to make the connection but just couldn’t wrap his head around it._

Sergio shook his head in an empty attempt to clear his mind of the memory.

“So you wanted to practice free kicks? I mean, that's great seeing as your form was shit but why did you feel compelled to practice them on me?”

Sergio walked over to the living room, where he suspected Cristiano had stumbled off to as it seemed to be the origin of his voice. “No, I had wanted to practice them with you but you were already in the showers… and then I saw you,” Sergio had finished walking the length of the hallway and found himself staring at Cristiano who had taken refuge on his sofa, “…you looked so beautiful." His voice was quiet but seemed to drip with lust and desire all of a sudden. "I had to have you.” He slowly approached the winger and cautiously sat down beside him, eyes not leaving Cris' lounging form once.

The Sevillan groaned as his phone buzzed. He negligently pulled it out of his pocket and checked the caller ID: Iker. He flipped his phone off and redirected his attention back on Cris.

The forward seemed distant, as if he were stuck in another time. “You had to hurt me?”

Sergio looked down at the now scarred wrists and took them into his hands, rubbing a thumb over the pink lines,

> _…gently tracing those wrists that had once been bruised for leverage… He kissed both of his wrists._

“I had never intended to hurt you, Cris.” Sergio slowly leaned in towards the number seven, catching sight of tears forming in the eyes of the older man.

“I loved you, Sergio.” Cristiano whispered, still lost in thought.

“I think you still do.”

> _Sergio [thoughtfully] leaned in a bit more to brush his lips down the Portuguese’s jaw line and, as he felt Cris’ soft lips grazing his, leaned in a bit more until their lips were pressed together in a soft and gentle kiss._

_No protests? Oh yeah, he’s drunk. But we can be this - if only for the night._

> _ Sergio continued the kiss begging for Cristiano to grant his tongue entrance. Cristiano parted his lips, granting Sergio [entry]. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:
> 
> Alcohol is considered a date-rape "drug" as it affects judgment and behavior and can put a person at risk for unwanted or risky sexual activity. An intoxicated person cannot give consent as they can neither think clearly nor can they set limits/make good choices.


	11. ...but I'm here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Iker is where?” Sergio asked challengingly, placing another kiss on Cristiano’s wrist._

The birds chirped merrily as they fluttered from shrub to shrub, tree to tree – searching for a way to make it through the day – picking at the ground near the roots of the unwavering oaks in pursuit of worms, plucking berries from the branches of the junipers. How could something so light and carefree exist in this world? “Xabi, I’m such an idiot. Why couldn’t I just let it go?” Iker stopped momentarily to bury his face into his hands. “I just don’t know when to step back and let things go, do I?”

_Oh the contrast_ , the number fourteen thought as he peeled his eyes from the scene beyond the dining room window and redirected his attention back towards Iker. He had watched helplessly as his club and national captain deteriorated more and more with each passing hour. “What do you mean, why couldn’t you let go?” Xabi asked as if Iker had just asked the dumbest question he had ever heard. "You happen to be Iker fucking Casillas. It is your job to hold on to things. You won’t let go for shit nor diamonds alike."

Iker sneered at him and continued pacing back and forth over the same area he had been continuously wearing down for the past thirty minutes. It had started to make the Basque uncomfortable only five minutes in and was the reason he had sought refuge in the opposing mannerisms of the birds.

Xabi released a light chuckle and looked down at the freshly filled coffee mug – _Nike? Must be one of Cris’ mugs_ – unable to take another sip. He had two cups already and they weren’t sitting with him to well. Maybe it was the guilt he felt building up inside of him, he couldn’t help but feel as if he had something to do with what was going on.

“…but you know me. I kept bringing it up and ended up driving him out of the house and sent Sergio out after him. How dumb am I? I’m supposed to be the one responsible for him – what kind of ‘responsible caretaker’ lets a man drive after five drinks, Xabi?”

Xabi had ignored pretty much every question and regarded the single statement. “I don’t think I quite understand what you mean,” the red beard yawned. Despite his tired state, Xabi was intrigued by the word choice of his captain, “How was sending Sergio after him dumb? I mean, he and Cris are close and he seems pretty damned responsible to me.” Xabi forced down a gulp of coffee, cursing his stomach for the sake of his sleepy head. “…minus the whole spiel with the Copa del Rey trophy,” Xabi laughingly conceded.

Iker chuckled and looked out the window watching as the sun slowly rose. A small tear rolled down his cheek as the five day old memory overtook him:

> _“No. Send the fucking sun back, Iker.”_
> 
> _Iker stretched, sharing the sentiment. “I swear, I wish I could, Cris.” He would turn back time while he was at it, if only for a few hours..._

How had things changed and deteriorated so quickly between them? He had asked himself that very question multiple times throughout the week but always came up empty on his search for the answer. That morning things were beautiful, Kodak even. He could’ve had a morning like that every day for the rest of his life and would have been beyond content. Then it was as if Cristiano had plummeted out of nowhere and had digressed to an alcohol dependency. They had returned from Chamartín District and Cristiano had immediately sought comfort in a bottle of Jack. Needless to say, Iker voiced his displeasure and they’d been fighting ever since. Iker sighed, turning to acknowledge Xabi, relieved to have someone he could confide in. “After the international break we all decided to do lunch together. Just Sergio, myself, and Cristiano…”

“Thanks for the invite, dick.” Xabi offered Iker a sleepy half-smile. “Where did you guys go?”

“Salamar but you wouldn’t have wanted to have been there. Seriously. I had left to go grab some Tylenol but when I came back it was…weird. There was tension between them and things were just really awkward. Sergio said that Cristiano had a serious panic attack and Cristiano looked like – death.”

_Oh no_. “Awkward, huh? Awkward how?”

“You know what Sergio? Fuck it. All of it. I know it’s wrong on so many levels but just do what makes you happy. Fuck Olalla. Fuck Fernando. Don’t fuck Cris because he’s fucked himself up enough, but what the hell? Try it. Even if that means you’re whoring yourself around to attackers… What is that anyway? Too good for the defenders and midfielders?” Xabi chuckled… “You need to figure out what’s best for you. Try things with Fernando. Try things with Cris. Just do it for yourself. And eat that fucking pie before I do!”

Xabi took a swing of the coffee, trying to drown out the echoing of his words from his memory. Maybe this was all a coincidence? Or maybe Sergio had come on to Cris? _Please, don’t let this be my fault… Fuck, my stomach._

“When I came back Cris didn’t say a single word to me and then he got up to use the bathroom. Sergio offered to check up on him and I told him to follow suite. When Sergio came back, though…” Iker shook his head as if he was still in disbelief, “there was blood and bruises all over him but he seemed completely unfazed by it. He even dismissed himself to take a phone call but only after he told me that Cris had attacked him.”

“Wait, Cristiano had…?” Xabi furrowed his brow, astonished by what he was hearing. So that was the reason why Sergio had been dismissed from the weeks training sessions and was left off the roster for the next game.

“Beat the shit out of Sergio.” Iker finished for him. “I couldn’t believe it either but when I went into the bathroom to check on Cris he seemed fine, well as fine as he could be. There wasn’t a mark on him besides his... ” Iker pointed to his wrists as a fat tear fell. “I told him that if he kept this shit up that they were going to commit him and send him to Barcelona for treatment.”

“Not Barcelona,” Xabi instinctively responded. “That was a bit harsh but what the fuck do I know? Did you ever figure out what had…?”

“Nope, neither of them will talk about it. It’s almost as if they took an oath of Omerta in there.” Iker shook his head trying to figure it all out. “Whenever I asked them what had happened, they both looked at me as if I had just grown a pair of antennae from my forehead and simply continued stuffing their faces.”

“I mean, I’m not sure but, uhm, I might know something.” Xabi offered. It didn't seem as if what he knew had anything to do with what had transpired at Salamar but just in case there was a connection he wanted to have a clear conscious.

Iker looked up at the Basque expectantly, urging him to continue.

“I shared a room with Sergio while we were on the break. He was having issues with…” Xabi trailed as he was unsure if Iker had known about the relationship between Fernando and Sergio.

Iker gave Xabi a restrained smile, “Fernando? I swear, I thought he was finished with him. I guess that was all nothing but talk.”

“Yeah but we had gone down to a bakery just around the corner to talk and shit. I gave him some advice, if you can call it that, and he seemed as if he was finally ready. I mean, as if he had been preparing himself…?”

It was Iker’s turn to furrow his brows. “What do you mean? He was ready to move on…?”

“…and had someone in mind. When I asked him who it was, he started talking about how he had liked this ‘guy’ but kind of rejected his own feelings at the time. He settled for friendship, that type of shit. He told me who it was and then I asked him how he was sure this ‘guy’ felt the same…?”

Iker started pacing again, he had a feeling he knew where this was going. “…and? Come on, Xabi! Don’t mess with me. Just tell me.”

“It was Cris.” Xabi rushed out. "He told me that when he was helping you grab some of Cris’ things from his house to take over to your place, here, and that he had found some kind of note. He said that Cris disclosed his feelings for him in there.”

The world seemed to stop spinning and his breathing became forced. He would’ve been able to have heard his heart beating loudly in his chest had it not been for the sound of it breaking. A shaky inhale, broken whimpers, scattered thoughts. He suddenly felt light-headed yet his body felt heavy.

“Iker?” Xabi leapt up out of his chair in the dining room and made his way into the kitchen where Iker had just abruptly stopped pacing. The older Spaniard was now grabbing desperately at his bar top as if it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing to the floor. _What the fuck?_ Xabi placed a comforting hand on the back of the goalie and started rubbing small circles. “What’s the matter, Iker?”

Iker panted for air and checked the clock, noting that Cristiano had already been gone for ten hours and fifty-two minutes, then down to his phone: forty-three outgoing calls to Sergio and not one of them returned.  _No, I’m just getting paranoid. Sergio wouldn’t do that to me knowing… wait, does he know? I never told him, did I? Even then, Cristiano wouldn’t have… he was fuming and drunk when he left the house. We hadn’t even kissed, much less exchanged any sort of pleasantries since the morning of our Salamar lunch date. Cristiano probably doesn’t know what, if anything, is going on between us. Fuck, no. This isn’t happening. Don’t let this be happening._

“Iker, what’s the matter?” Xabi’s voice was lowered, softened to a comforting whisper. He wasn’t sure what was going on with Iker but the man did not look like he was doing too well.

“Do you think they’re…?” Iker looked at the Basque from over his shoulder, as if he’d find the answer he was searching for written in bold ink on the midfielder’s face.

Xabi’s features, instead, conveyed bewilderment. “I’m not sure. I mean, does it really matter? If Cristiano cares for Sergio and vice versa…”

“He can’t. There’s no way Sergio loves Cristiano the way I love him!” Iker shot back, unaware he’d be confessing his feelings for Cristiano to Xabi until after the fact. He had never told anyone (other than Cris) his sexuality, much less confessed his love for another man. Iker softened his voice, “We have to find him, Xabi.”

Xabi was gob smacked, an emotion he’d been feeling quite a bit lately. First with Sergio and Fernando, then Sergio and Cristiano, and now Iker and Cristiano? What's worse was that he had encouraged Sergio to pursue Cristiano but he hadn’t known about Iker.  _Holy shit._ The number fourteen nodded, pulling Iker up off of the bar top by the shoulder and into a heartfelt hug. No wonder why he was such a mess.

* * *

 

Fernando glanced down at his phone and tried placing the call again. “Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system.” Fernando released yet another groan of frustration; he had been trying Sergio for most of the night and morning and had been hit with the same thing each time. _This isn’t like him, his phone is always on. Even when it dies, he always returns my calls within minutes._ The Spaniard glanced over at the clock, reading it to be 0545. He had been trying him since their conversation had abruptly ended the night before with Sergio claiming he simply had to go check on someone for Iker. Fernando’s replies of “why can’t Iker do it?” were scoffed at and after Sergio had resorted to simply calling him a “selfish asshole” he had immediately hung up seemingly vexed with the number nine.

Fernando jumped as he heard sudden rustling coming from within the kitchen. He was supposed to be alone; Olalla had taken herself and the kids over to her mother’s for the duration of their divorce (however long that may be) as she supposed that it would be easier on the kids. He sprung out of his bed as he heard the refrigerator open and threw on a pair of basketball shorts. He drew in a sharp intake of air as he rounded the bedroom’s entry and stepped out into the hallway. No one there. “He-he-hello?” Fernando managed to weakly stutter out as he forced himself to take another step down the hallway.

“Oh, Nando! About damn time.”

Relief was an understatement for what he had felt when he heard his manager’s voice resounding from the kitchen. “Jose,” he breathed as he caught sight of the older Portuguese man sitting at his dining room table. “What are you doing here?” he asked already aware of how he had gotten in.

“They’re talking again,” the gray haired man stated as he threw the paper he had been reading down on the table, sliding it towards Fernando.

> **Fernando Torres Needs Move to Revitalize His Career**

“They’re always talking,” Fernando sighed out. “I don’t know nor will I ever understand what their problem is with me. Why can’t the media find something else to talk about?”

“I can only do so much. I went after one of my favored former athletes, I’ve gone after Pep… Now who am I supposed to go after? Look, Fernando. You just need to focus on yourself and your finishing. You’re doing too much to try to impress these ‘people’,” Mourinho pointed to the paper. He gradually shifted his focus back to Fernando. “That's not why I'm here, though." He sighed. "You looked great in training yesterday but I need better from you or we may be seeing you off to another club during the winter transfer window.”

“I don’t understand. What more can I do?” Fernando collapsed into the chair directly beside the Portuguese manager, flailing his arms about in defeat. “I mean, I’m not Messi. I didn’t grow up with these people, shit, I didn’t grow up in this league. And I sure as fuck am not Cristiano. I work hard and I train hard but I’m human!”

_You are definitely not him._ “Fernando,” Jose breathed as he placed a hand on the striker’s knee. “You don’t need to convince the media or even other members of the team that you want to be here. You just have to convince me that you deserve to be here.”

Fernando breathily snickered, “I thought I had already convinced you of what I wanted.”

“Well, a little reassurance never hurt," the Portuguese chuckled. "Besides, your heading ability could use some work. Maybe you should work on that a little more as well. A little extra practice never hurt anyone.”

“Well, coach,” Fernando sighed, “when do you suppose I start working on that?”

“Why do you think I’m here?” Jose lustfully sneered as he slid his hand a little higher up the thigh of the freckled Spaniard. "By the time I'm through with you, there will be no one who knows how to use their head better."

* * *

_Birds, stupid fucking birds. Shut up._ Sergio forced his eyes open, groaning as the light flooded in through his irises. The quality of the light streaming inside through the windows and the doors told him it was too early in the morning for him to be awake. _What time is it?_ Sergio sat up in the bed and looked around the room searching for a clock. As he wondered where the hell his clock had gone off to, it dawned on him. This wasn’t his room, hell, he hadn’t even gone home last night. Sergio glanced down at the sleeping body next to him and let a small, thoughtless smile creep across his face. Cristiano looked so at peace with himself when he was asleep, anyone seeing him like this would have no clue of the turmoil that was bubbling beneath the surface.

_Oh fuck, he’s going to wake up sober – with a hangover from hell, sure, but sober none the less._ The Sevillan fought the impulse of springing hurriedly out of the bed as panic set in. As easy as it was to say that he had gotten what he had deserved at Salamar, he definitely didn’t want to go for another round. Cristiano could pack a punch and those bony knuckles of his definitely worked in his favor. Fearing that sudden, rapid movements may wake the sleeping forward (and bring on round two sooner than necessary) he slowly turned to climb out of the bed.

Cristiano stirred as Sergio placed one foot on the ground, stretching out his arms, making contact with the Sevillan’s back with his forearm just before he quickly recoiled it back to his body. The slumbering man simply smacked his lips and rolled over to his side, facing the Sevillan, eye lids still unmoved.

Sergio released a sigh of relief before the thought hit him. _I had topped him last night. There’s no way he’s going to wake up and not feel that. I swear, I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t_ , Sergio reasoned as he repositioned himself back into the bed. He cautiously snuggled up to the winger and pulled his arm over his chest, making it seem as if Cristiano had snuggled up to him and not the other way around. Pretending to still be sleeping, in the event that Cristiano woke suddenly, he rolled over and faced the striker taking in a deep inhale. At this point everything was worth a shot. _Here it goes,_ he thought as he opened his eyes, relieved to find Cristiano’s still closed and not staring back at him. He slowly covered Cristiano’s mouth with his own and tenderly started kissing the older man.

Cristiano released a sleepy sigh into his mouth and subconsciously kissed him back. As the kiss deepened, and as hands grew curious, his eyes fluttered open. He would’ve choked on his own tongue had it not been shoved in Sergio’s mouth. _What the fuck am I doing?_ He felt a nudge and compliantly rolled over to his back and was shortly straddled by the Sevillan. Though his body was still thoughtlessly surrendering to Sergio’s unspoken demands, his mind was racing at a mile a minute. _What the hell happened last night? How did I end up back at my place? With Sergio? Why does my…_ “Ah!” Cristiano pulled away from the kiss, gasping in pain as Sergio got carried away fondling his ass.

“I’m sorry, baby. I should’ve been more considerate.” The Sevillan whispered into his ear. “You’re just so irresistible.” He traced Cristiano’s cheekbone with his thumb as he placed his lips gently onto the nape of Cristiano’s neck, dragging his lips from the top bones of his vertebrae to the collarbone of the number seven. After he finished his assault there, he gradually began kissing his way down Cristiano’s toned chest.

“Just…”Cristiano’s breathing shortened, partly because of what Sergio was doing to his body with his lips, partly out of frustration as he had started to realize exactly what had happened the night before. His head hurt, no fuck that, his head was going to explode from all of the pain surging though it. He couldn’t bring himself to think too hard, much less pick another fight with Sergio. “Just tell me what happened last night, Sergio?” _No, just get up and walk away._

_This is much better than a fist to the face,_ the Sevillan thought as he lifted his lips from Cristiano’s abdomen. “Well, you were angry. Very angry. Particularly with Iker,” Sergio lightly traced Cris’ top two abs with his fingers, “You said he was trying to control you.”

“I got into it with Iker?” Cristiano barely remembered anything from the evening before but could make out the faint taste of alcohol lingering on his tongue. That explains the throbbing headache.

Sergio smiled to himself. _He doesn’t remember shit and still seems a bit intoxicated. Thank God._ “Yeah. He told me that you guys had been going at it for most of the week. This time, I guess you had enough and took off to the club. He called me and I went after you, just to make sure you were okay. And, well…” Sergio glanced around the room and then back at Cris. “I tried making it up to you.” The Sevillan grabbed at one of Cristiano’s hands, that had been placed on his forehead in part disbelief, part exasperation, and turned it to where the scarred wrist was facing him and placed a long, gentle kiss on the pink skin. “I know I never could. But I do care about you. Why do you think I’m here?”

_That explains why I can't move._ “What about Iker?” Cristiano tried to push away from the Sevillan but, forgetting that he was being straddled by the younger man, he simple ended up [unintentionally] grinding his hips against the defender bringing about a light chuckle from Sergio. _Fuck. I just encouraged him._

“He never came. I mean, he called but… Cristiano, it’ll be okay. He cared enough to call?” Sergio replied dryly as he reached up and wiped the stray tear that rolled down the Portuguese’s cheek.

“But Iker. Iker is…” Cristiano trailed as he was overcome with emotion. Frustration, anger, guilt, remorse, not to mention physical pain. _What have I done?_

“Iker is where?” Sergio asked challengingly, placing another kiss on Cristiano’s wrist.

Cristiano’s face filled with worry. “Here.”

Sergio had to strain his ears but he could make out the sound of a key being forced into Cristiano’s front door.


	12. To Hear What Is Felt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"...And it’s not like we were…” Cristiano quickly pointed between himself and Iker. “Were we?” Cristiano needed reassurance. Tell me that there is something here, between us. Tell me that you want to protect me because you care about me as something more than a friend who needs protecting. Tell me you let me take you because you loved me. Tell me you kissed me in the mornings before all of this because you couldn’t think of anything better. Tell me that you’re in love with me and want to make me fall in love with you every day for the rest of your life._

“He’s here? Oh, Cris. You must still be feeling all of that alcohol.” Sergio chuckled as he flicked one of Cristiano’s exposed nipples. “I didn’t hear anyone pull into the drive,” the Sevillan quietly lied. He needed Cristiano to stay focused. “Even if he was here, why would it matter? He captains the team, not your life.” Sergio quickly redirected his attention to his prior engagement of kissing his way down the Portuguese. He traced Cristiano’s naval with is tongue before dragging his mouth even further down. “…besides, I need to show you how sorry I am.” He susurrused as he grazed his lips over the adjoining area of the Portuguese’s thigh and pelvis.

Cristiano let out a sharp, involuntary exhale allowing a small whimper to escape past his lips alongside with it. “Sergio, I… I don’t think that this is…”

“I know you’re still mad at me, Cristiano. You’re not that difficult to read,” Sergio quietly pouted up at the Portuguese winger. “Please, just let me try. I’m never going to stop attempting to make up for the things I’ve done, Ronny. You said that you loved me…”

“Yeah, bu-but…”

“Love doesn’t die so easily. It can’t, don’t you see that.” Sergio whispered just before breathing heavily over the number seven’s hardening member.

_Fucking body. Stop. Stop encouraging him. I don’t want this. Do I? Not really. Or do I?_

“Your scars have bled,” Sergio reached up, eyes half closed as his seductive nature became him, “but now they’re meant to heal. I see the way you still look at me, Cristiano. I can still see the hurt and the pain, so intense; I’m sure you can feel emotions so strong only when you care for a person as much as I know you had once cared about me. I think you still do. I still see beyond all of that, I can still see the desire in your eyes when you look at me and I know that where there is desire, there’s bound to be a flame somewhere. Let me help you close the wounds I have opened within you.” Sergio wasn’t sure of any of the things he had whispered up to the forward: whether or not Cristiano still cared for him, whether it was hurt and not pure unadulterated hatred he was sensing, whether or not there was something still to be salvaged – and if there was, if he’d able to. One thing was certain, though. As he took a mouthful of the older Portuguese man and as he heard the other release a sigh of satisfaction… As he felt the hand of the number seven tugging encouragingly at his hair… As he heard footsteps making their way down the hallway… _I have him right where I want him._ Of that, Sergio was certain.

* * *

 

A glass vase crashing to a slate tile floor after a bump from the baby. A football hurling through a set of French doors after a powerful yet misguided kick. A car connecting quickly with another after a sudden red light. A baseball colliding with your windshield after a homerun. A light bulb falling to your driveway after you fumbled it and its replacement bulb. A remote being thrown at a television as Nani receives a red card. A vase, a set of doors, an accident, a windshield, a light bulb, and a television – neither one nor all combined proved to be remotely comparable to the sound of Iker’s heart breaking as he pulled up to Cristiano’s house, catching sight of the Sevillan’s white Porsche.

Iker paced around just outside of the front door, he couldn’t bare stepping into that house knowing that Sergio was only a few strides down the hall, more than likely snuggled up in bed with Cris. Sergio was probably holding him close, whispering to the Portuguese words of assurance: _“I’m here for you” “I will never let you go” “I will never let you leave me”._ The Spaniard choked back his tears; he was supposed to be holding Cristiano, he was supposed to be the pillar of support. He hadn’t been there for him, though, he had been against him. _I should’ve spoken with him, not at him. I should’ve tried to understand._ He had let him go, worse he had negligently let Cristiano take off aware of his inebriated state. I _should’ve stopped him. I should’ve begged for him to stay. Hell, I should’ve shoved his keys down the disposal. He had simply sat idly by as Cris left him. As another man stepped in during his time of need. I should’ve been the one to chase after him. I should’ve been the one talking to him at the club._ He stared out a set of Cristiano’s picture windows located directly opposite of him, cursing himself for his blunders of the day before. _If he is in Sergio’s arms then it’s because I drove him there. If I had be reasonable, this would’ve never happened._ He released an audible exhale, trying to compose himself.

“Iker, I know this is hard for you but we have to go in at some point in time.”

The goalie glanced back at Xabi and nodded. “Do you think you can pull Sergio into another room and have a word with him just before I go in and talk to Cristiano? I just don’t want to accidentally snap on him about something he probably knows nothing about and create a lot of unnecessary tension and shit…” Iker had progressed into the house, walking the length of the first hallway, stepping aside into the living room to allow Xabi to take the lead as they started down the second.

“I understand, I actually need to talk to him anyway. I mean, he did confide in me about this whole spiel with Cristiano anyway.” Xabi whispered over his shoulder as he reached back to give his captain’s hand a quick yet comforting squeeze. “Just take big breaths and choose your words carefully. Things like this can go either way. You wait here?” The Basque turned and pointed to the interior of the Portuguese’s living room.

“Is that what happened with Steven? Poor word choice?” Iker playfully retorted as he spun on his heel and headed for the sofas.

Xabi froze momentarily, wondering how the hell Iker had known about Steven, but quickly shook off the thought. Iker was both his national team and club team captain – he pretty much knew everything. _Omniscient dick,_ Xabi chuckled to himself as he pushed open the master bedroom door. “Sergi-whoa, whoa, whoa.” Xabi instantly began backing out of the door, covering his eyes. He hadn’t seen anything other than Cristiano’s face projecting euphoria as Sergio’s head seemed to be bobbing beneath the comforter. It's not like he was at all affected by what he had just seen – given his reason for being there and what not – he was simply a man of respect. “I’m sorry to interrupt but, uh… I really need to talk to you, Sergio. If that is you?”

Sergio peaked out beneath the covers, licking his lips. “Damn you, Xabi. This better be important.”

Iker cringed as he heard the exchange and started pacing the length of the Cris’ living room. They were definitely in the same room together. Iker couldn’t suppress the stony glare that engraved itself amongst his features as he watched the Sevillan trail the Basque out of Cristiano’s bedroom only half-dressed. His jealousy immediately silenced the little voices that pleaded ‘he didn’t know’ to his fists that had balled up at the mere sight of the defender…

“Sergio, let’s talk in here.” The red beard immediately pulled the Sevillan into one of the guest rooms, not waiting for the younger man’s consent, and closed the door before Iker had the chance to work himself up even more.

Iker turned his attention to the open door of the master bedroom and quietly walked the length of the second hallway. He pushed the door open a little further, allowing his eyes to fall on the flustered form of Cristiano. His shirt was off and Iker was unsure if he was wearing anything more than the sheet – he honestly didn’t want to know. Maybe they had just been kissing? Cristiano appeared to be distant, knees drawn to his chest as he seemed to be lost in thought. Whether or not he knew Iker was there still seemed irresolute. His face had been made pale, whether it had been from the sunlight seeping in through the windows or a reflection of inner turmoil remained unknown, while his eyes maintained an intense focus on the wall.

The goalie cleared his throat and tapped against the door with one of his knuckles. “Cris, I…”

“You never came for me.” Cristiano’s eyes snapped away from the wall instantly finding Iker’s. The lost expression had quickly transformed into an accusatory glare and Iker felt as if he had shrunk to a mere three feet. “You didn’t follow me.” Cristiano shook his head and flattened his legs, smoothing the comforter around him.

“Cris, I…” The keeper tried but Cristiano interrupted, choosing to continue his thought rather than listen to Iker’s excuses.

“You nothing. You sent somebody else after me. I thought you cared about me?”

Iker looked down at his hands in shame. “Cris, I do care about…”

“Then where the hell were you, Iker? I mean, I don’t mean to sound like some bitchy female but I mean, how the fuck are you going to say that you fucking care yet you never show up. Actions speak louder than words, Iker. It was one thing when I had something you wanted but the second you knew you could have it… what? I’m suddenly some bitch you can just order around and drive off?”

“It was never about that, Cris! You were just so mad at me. I thought my presence would only make it wor…”

“Well, you thought wrong! I needed you there. To tell me that everything would be okay. To tell me that one day I’d be able to close my eyes and not see his face…” _Instead, I woke up to it. To his body pressed on mine – again. And now look at me, I’m so fucking confused._ “Where were you?”

“I’m so sorry, Cristiano. I truly am. I never wanted to hurt you…” Iker walked up to the bed and sat on the edge of it, quickly dismissing the memory of their night together. His mind needed to be in the present, not wallowing in the past. He needed to fix this and he had to be there, in the moment, to do so. “I never wanted it to be like this between us.”

They both sat quietly in the room, the silence more awkward than comfortable.

Iker cringed, the room smelled of sex but he only saw confusion on Cristiano’s face. He had heard nothing but anger but he had caught a glimpse of the hurt emulating from the winger. I need to fix this but am I already too late? “Look Cris, I know we…”

Cristiano scoffed, a frown forming on his quivering lips. “We…?” He choked out. “We? There was no ‘we’, Iker. It was always you. Ever since that first night at Ciudad I’ve been at your mercy. You made me go home with you that night…”

“I was rightfully worried about you, Cristiano!” Iker didn’t mean for his voice to escalate but it had.

“I had told you that I wanted to quit playing football but you told me that I only needed to use up some of my personal leave…” The tears started to fall hard and heavy.

“The same day you went and tried to fucking kill yourself you were perfectly content with returning to football, anxious even!” Iker was growing flustered, he needed to know where this was going but most of all, most of all he wanted to know where the hell this was coming from. “You even called me an ‘awesome support system’! I never did anything you didn’t want!”

“What about that night you found me and called the cops, did I want that? What about this conservatorship, did I want this? You didn’t even ask me if I wanted to come back to my home, you just threw me in yours and told me to deal with it. And then you come up with all of these bullshit prohibition rules in your house…”

“I let you drink, in moderation.”

“You let me?!? That’s my fucking problem, Iker. You let me? Who the fuck gave you the right to make decisions for me?”

“Spain.”

“Fuck you, Iker. I’m going to the courthouse and I’m having that shit revoked. I would rather go to Barcelona than deal with you. You are just as fucked up as he was…” Cristiano finished softly, letting the tears fall peacefully and undisturbed. “You have no damned right to exert yourself and your fucking need for control onto me. I will not be subjugated by you and I will not bend at your every fucking whim.”

Iker placed his head into his palms. To be compared with the person who had raped Cristiano? The man he loved? There’s nothing that hurt him more than that and the knowledge that he was the cause of those tears. “Cris. Look, I’m sorry. I’m just…I’m really scared and I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. I fucked it up once and I can’t, I can’t do it again. I’m sorry but when you drink, I think of that night. The night we…” Iker absentmindedly ran his hand along the top of the bed, “and it’s scary because within twenty-four hours you were bleeding on that damned locker room floor again. I can’t help but think ‘what if I hadn’t showed up? What if I had gone straight home like I had intended on doing?’ and it scares the shit out of me, Cris. I never wanted you to feel ‘subjugated’ just protected. Please, don’t go to Barcelona. Just give me another chance.”

“I’m not some fucking child who needs protecting. Why couldn’t you just tell me that you were worried?” Cristiano asked, just before biting at his thumb nail, eyes darting around in an attempt to whisk away any forming tears.

Iker released a sigh of relief at Cristiano’s subconscious habit, it was a clear indication he was digressing down from anger. “Why couldn’t you just tell me that you felt as if I was exerting dominance over you?” _Or is Sergio’s dominance the only one your willing to submit to_ , Iker uncontrollably thought as he caught sight of the Sevillan’s shirt on the floor. He knew what Sergio was like in relationships based solely on his short talks with him about Fernando. Cristiano needed to regain control if he was ever going to recover fully, not relinquish it to the first person who was willing to take it from him. _Is that all this is? Or is it more? Please, don’t let this be more._

Cristiano looked down at his groin in a motion that indicated the answer was there and chuckled softly.

 _We’re going to be okay,_ Iker thought as he chuckled in agreement. “So Sergio…”

“Was there for me when I needed him.” Cristiano answered simply as he returned to chewing on his thumbnail. It wasn’t true, Sergio was the last person he needed to see, the last person he wanted to see, but he was the only familiar face in a confusing room full of people.

Iker winced. He hated that answer, though there was something off about Cristiano’s response. It seemed rehearsed, robotic, as if the Portuguese had told himself that one hundred times over to convince himself of it.

“Well,” Iker nervously rubbed the back of his neck, “do you still need him?”

Cristiano stopped chewing and stared pensively into his lap. _Did I truly need him to begin with? He was there for me when Iker wasn’t but why? Why was he there? He said he was trying to make it up to me, he couldn’t be lying, could he? He did feel guilty enough to tell me about what he had done. That’s a good sign, right? Maybe I do need him to bring closure to all of this…_ “I think I do.” Cristiano responded as he quizzically looked up into the Spaniard’s eyes. “I mean, I’ll still have you as my conservator, right? And it’s not like we were…” Cristiano quickly pointed between himself and Iker. “Were we?” Cristiano needed reassurance. _Tell me that there is something here, between us. Tell me that you want to protect me because you care about me as something more than a friend who needs protecting. Tell me you let me take you because you loved me. Tell me you kissed me in the mornings before all of this because you couldn’t think of anything better. Tell me that you’re in love with me and want to make me fall in love with you every day for the rest of your life._

The fear of rejection consumed Iker as he quietly breathed out, “No.”

Cristiano nodded as he looked down into his lap, fighting back the tears. “So you’re okay with this?” He had to fight himself to keep from choking on his words, to keep sobs from exploding out from within, but had successfully managed to smoothly voice his question without breaking on a single syllable. He pointed around his room, as if that said everything about what had gone on in there, without looking up, afraid of having an emotional breakdown at the sight of the Spaniard.

 _No, Cristiano. This is not okay. This… I need you, Cristiano. I want to do more than simply protect you. I need to hold you, kiss you, build you up… I’m not okay with you giving yourself to another man. I need you with me. I need to rollover and wake up to you, with you in the mornings. I want to cook you breakfast or spend Monday’s lazily in bed with you. I need you, Cristiano because I love you._ “Yes.”

* * *

 

 _What the hell is going on?_ Sergio stared up at the Basque from the edge of the bed dumbfounded, trying to figure out what Xabi was doing here. Iker’s presence he understood. But Xabi’s…?

Xabi paced back and forth in front of the closed door, tapping away at his temples in an attempt to draw forward a thought or an idea to undo the mess he felt he had made. He’d been doing that for the past several minutes. “Oh man, oh man, oh man. I fucked up, Sergio. I should’ve never…” Xabi thrust his hands down towards the floor in frustration releasing and exasperated groan, finally breaking the silence. “I know I told you to try things with, Cristiano but…”

“But what? You think that’s all I’m doing? Trying things? I’m aware of everything he’s gone through, Xabi. I know what I’m doing.” _I know exactly what I’m doing._ “Look, I’m not going to hurt…”

“Iker?” Xabi looked up. “He’s the one hurting. I mean, I know Cristiano is going through a fuck ton right now and he’s dealing with it by drawing security from a stable relationship but, and I know you probably don’t know this, hell I didn’t even know until this morning, but Iker’s madly in love with Cris, Sergio. I just… I’m not sure if Cris knew or not but now, this…” the Basque waved his hands in the air, “I can’t help but feel as if I hadn’t of said anything then this would…”

“…not have happened?” Sergio finished for the midfielder. “It would've. Look, Xabi, don’t beat yourself up. Cristiano and I share something…special. It’s not your fault and even if Cristiano knew about Iker’s feelings for him…”

A light knock came from the other side of the door, immediately silencing the Sevillan.

“Yeah?” Xabi asked as he pulled open the door, coming face to face with a depressed looking Iker. “Is everything okay?”

“Well, I did convince him not to go to Barcelona.” Iker responded, averting his gaze to his feet. “He swore he’d be back ‘home’ by three in the afternoon, so that’s good. He’s in the shower now…” Iker quickly looked up, glaring over towards the Sevillan. “You seem to have gotten over Fernando rather quickly, huh?” The goalie mindlessly snapped as a disgusted sneer overcame his lips.

Sergio shook his head and found an ‘interesting’ spot on the wall. In truth, he had begun to feel guilty about not returning any of the forty-three missed calls on his phone. _Stay focused, you can call him when you get home,_ he had told himself numerous times throughout the evening. He couldn’t afford the emotional ‘distraction’ he knew Fernando would bring when he was around Cristiano; he was on eggshells as it was and recognized the fragility of what he was working towards building. He couldn’t let Iker see that, especially since his reservations about a possible connection between Iker and Cristiano had been confirmed.

“He came on to me,” Sergio quietly lied. “Not the other way around. He was hurt because you weren’t there. You can’t be mad at me, Iker. I had no idea that you had feelings for him until…”

Sergio pointed at Xabi, indicating that he was the source of his ‘newfound’ knowledge. _Damn, I’m good._ “If I had, I would’ve of never... but it happened and now…” Sergio looked up at the keeper, catching his eyes directly in his, “If you both want this to end then it will.” _Please, let me be right about this._

“Cris needs you.” Iker choked out before restarting strong, his voice dripping with warning. “But I swear, if you fuck with him… I will fuck your world up. I will give your fucking life a motherfucking red card. You will be ejected out of this life and the next.”

Xabi, who had been watching awkwardly, placed a reassuring hand on Iker’s shoulder and gave Sergio an apologetic smile.

“I hear you, Iker. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.” _I’ll definitely take care of him._

“Well, that’s not your fucking role in his life, now is it? It’s mine, I have the conservatorship, I care for him,” more than you could ever comprehend, “Just don’t hurt him. Please, don’t…” Iker had tried fighting them back but the tears had built up to an overwhelming pressure, and now fell quickly down his cheeks.

Sergio stood up and walked over to the keeper and pulled him into a tight hug. “It’ll be okay, Iker. He’ll be okay.”

“He better be.”

* * *

Sergio sighed as he waved from the entryway just outside of Cristiano’s house, watching as Iker and Xabi pull out of the drive. Iker had insisted that they leave before Cristiano emerged from his shower, honestly claiming that his heart couldn’t bear it. A smile of satisfaction crept across the Sevillan’s face but quickly diminished at the thought of Fernando. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called the freckle-faced striker back, glancing back at the house deciding it best to speak away from the doors and windows.

“Hello?” Fernando sounded exhausted, as if he had already expended the energy he had for the day.

Sergio checked his watch, noting that it was still too early for Fernando to be at training. “Hey, sorry I never called you back. I was distracted.”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine. I was just a little worried.”

“A little?” The defender responded sardonically, recalling the forty-three missed calls. “If that’s a little I would hate to see you seriously concerned,” he laughed, glancing back at the house, paranoid he was being listened in on. Sergio decided it would probably be best to walk the property fence line, dragging the fingers of his spare hand along the gate as he did. “So, look. About you and Olalla?”

“She’s somewhere” the Chelsea man sighed, “but the kids are back in Cee with her parents. She said it would be better for them to be there ‘where it’s stable’ rather than with us throughout the divorce. To be completely honest, I’m surprised she hasn’t paid you visit yet.”

Sergio gulped, that was the last thing he needed right now. He was quickly distracted, the features of his face succumbing to confusion as he heard a man whisper ‘Fernando?’ on the other end of the line. “Fernando? Who is that?” The Sevillan asked. He had thought they had worked everything out last night, he had thought that they were ‘fine’, that they’d (well Fernando, at least) be exclusive.

“Uhm, well. Look, I’ve been meaning to…”

“Fernando, who are you on the phone with? Get back here.”

Sergio’s eyes widened at the familiarity of the voice, “Mourinho? What the…?”

“I have to go, Sergio.” Fernando rushed out.

“Wait a minute! You’re not even going to…?”

“Who was that?”

Sergio looked up and found a bewildered Cristiano standing in front of him.

Think, Sergio. Be honest and he’ll open up to you. “It was Fernando.” Sergio answered, noticing Cristiano’s lips tighten as his eyebrows raised. He looked nervous. Maybe a half-truth would work? “We, uh, broke up and now Olalla’s divorcing him because… well you know. You told…”

Cristiano gritted his teeth and drew in a sharp breath of air.

“I guess he took it hard and now he’s rebounding with Mourinho. Isn’t that something?”

Cristiano’s eyes widened and he began to blink rapidly, “Mo-Mou-Mourinho?”

“I was just as shocked,” the Sevillan replied, mistaking Cristiano’s panic for mere surprise. “Let’s grab some breakfast? All of that 'mess' has me near starving. I'll cook for you, yeah?”

* * *

> _“Cristiano Ronaldo, huh? I’m really looking forward to working with you. We’ve been to similar places and lifted similar trophies, now we’re going to go to those places together.” Jose smiled warmly as the younger man poked his head further into the managerial office. He stood up and walked over to him placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Funny, he thought as he looked into the winger’s dark eyes, he seems so human up close._
> 
> _Cristiano nodded politely towards his fellow countryman. “I’m looking forward to working with you, as well, Mr. Mourinho. I hear that you’re the best manager in the world right now, winning all of the tiles in all of the leagues...”_
> 
> _“...and I hear you’re the best forward in the world?” Jose rhetorically asked of him as he closed the door. "...and please, Jose will do just fine."_
> 
> _“No”, Cristiano responded, a frown forming on his face. “You’re probably the only person who didn’t notice my shit 2009-10 season. You probably noticed me fail for our country, though.” Cristiano shook his head and looked up at his new manager. “There’s no way I’m going to even get nominated for that damned Golden Ball this year.”_
> 
> _“That’s why I’m here,” Mourinho breathed sitting down directly beside the distressed forward. “You and I… We’re going to be phenomenal together. We’re going to lift trophies together while we’re here… Let them say that Spain has the best football, that some Spanish player is the best for one year… but I know the best player is Portuguese, the best manager is Portuguese. That moment will pass so we’re not going to worry about you’re performances under Queiroz and_ _Pellegrini. Your time is now, under me. Here with me.” Jose placed a gentle hand on Cristiano’s thigh and tilted his head low enough to pull Cris’ eyes from the ground and into his. “We will go places together. Places you’ve never even dreamed of going. You are an amazing athlete; I’ve spoken with Ferguson about your commitment and dedication, I know you’re going to give me that on the pitch. I have faith in you, do you have faith in me? Do you think I am capable of guiding you down the road to glory?”_
> 
> _Cristiano didn’t know what it was about this older man but he seemed to gravitate towards him, he was being pulled in with each affirmation with each reassurance. He nodded, eye contact unwavering. “I trust you,” he whispered shakily. “You are more than capable of…”_
> 
> _Jose slowly leaned in towards the winger, stopping only when he came within inches of the younger Portuguese man. “What am I capable of, Cristiano?”_
> 
> _“What aren’t you capable of?” Cristiano answered, the question rhetoric, as he closed the gap between himself and the older man._
> 
> _ It was never about lust nor love – they had merely appreciated one another for all they were and all they knew they’d become. _


	13. Blurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _...and that was the synopsis of all of Iker’s fears._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a lot of rewriting done within this chapter (o.o)

Blurred trees, blurred lines, blurred faces, blurred purpose, blurred ambition, and blurred meanings.... He felt as if he was looking at his life and not out the window of the Basque’s Range Rover. Every once in a while, as they’d come to a stop, he’d catch a moment of clarity bursting out from amongst the chaos and confusion: a child’s eager face just before he climbed onto a school bus, a woman’s red lipstick painting a ring around her Styrofoam cup of coffee as she smiled into the eyes of a man adoring her. He had been that for him, when all of the chaos stopped he was his clarity. All that he was sacrificing, giving up, taking in…made worth it, made clear by his love for Cristiano. Though its return remained uncertain, another blur, he found comfort in the certainty, the fine detail, that his love for Cristiano burned strong and true. _Why couldn’t I have just told him? It should have been easy. I held the words in my mind, I meant them with all I have but why I couldn’t I just give voice to them?_ “He seemed off, Xabi. Whenever I asked him about Sergio? I just don’t like it. There’s something going on between them.” Iker whispered, breaking the comfortable silence while raising an eyebrow towards the midfielder.

“You think, Iker?” Xabi chuckled as he took a sharp turn into the goalies driveway. “You just told me that you loved Cristiano, we go over to his place because you fear he’s sleeping with Sergio, we get there and your fears are confirmed…”

“We don’t know that they slept together, Xabi.” Iker rushed out, desperate to convince himself of it. “They could’ve just cuddled and shit…”

“They could’ve just cuddled and shit?” Xabi scoffed, mocking the older man while piteously shaking his head. “They definitely weren’t ‘just cuddling and shit’, of that I am one hundred percent certain. We’re talking about Sergio here, have you forgotten…?” Xabi sighed and glanced over at his captain, noting the sadness in his eyes just before he put his Land Rover in parking position. “Look Iker, you supposedly love the man, of course you don’t like it. You’re supposed to feel jealous, if you didn’t then maybe I’d tell you to forget him because it’s obvious you don’t truly care for him…but you do care for him. Maybe he’s just trying to figure things out, you know? Give it time.”

Iker rubbed his hand harshly against his face, irritated with the way his day was shaping up to be. “I was trying to help him, Xabi. Then he just…”

“There are some things he needs to figure out on his own, Iker. You know that.”

“What’s Sergio going to bring to his attention that I can’t?” Iker looked expectantly over towards the Basque who had started studying his own hands. When he felt as if he wasn’t going to get an answer, Iker scoffed and went to step out of the car muttering the word “Figures” under his breath.

“If nothing else, Iker. Maybe he’ll realize how much you do care about him, what an important person in his life you are, how much he needs you.” Xabi gave him a half smile before finishing, “Sometimes it takes separating yourself from something that’s truly important to you for you to recognize its true value. Maybe that’s all this is? He’ll be back by three, anyway. Talk to him then.

I mean, you did tell him about how you felt towards him, right? Just give him time to digest that and… Iker?” Xabi’s eyes grew wide as his head tilted as if he was restraining himself from exploding, “Iker? Fuck me, you didn’t tell him did you? For fucks sake, Iker!”

“I just, I just… I just couldn’t Xabi. I choked! He even directly asked me if there was anything between us…” Iker had climbed out of the SUV, fearing that the defensive midfielder may slap him for his stupidity, and now hung on the door.

“...and?!”

“And I said no. I just couldn’t bear to hear him tell me that we were never about that…”

“But you can bear seeing him with somebody else? Iker! Jesus fucking Christ. You better tell him when he gets back here or you’ll never forgive yourself and I swear… I am not dealing with that shit! Call me after you two talk, okay? I’ll probably still be at training but leave me a few detailed voicemails. Don’t laugh at me, man. I’m not fucking around.”

“Bye, Xabi.” Iker drawled back, rolling his eyes as he spoke. “Thanks for everything. Seriously, though, I fucking love you for this shit. Try not to hurt yourself!” Iker laughed out as he closed the door.

* * *

 

Iker groaned as Liza stood in front of himself and Cristiano lecturing them on ways to build resilience. It felt as if she had been going on forever though the clock told him he’d only been sitting there for five minutes; he had been told by several people that a minute on earth was an eternity in hell – how right they were. Iker glanced over at Cristiano hoping that he was here (at 1500 as promised) for more than the therapy session Iker had intentionally struck from his own memory.

It wasn’t that Liza was horrible at her job - she was well decorated and came to the club highly recommended - she was just ill prepared as she had come to Madrid to help the team cope with a loss, not to prevent one. She looked down at her sheet pensively, lost in her own thoughts as she tried to come up with a better way to draw Cristiano out of the shell he seemed to be hiding in. He never spoke, not to her, he just seemed to sit there and think, something that made Liza extremely uncomfortable. She based a lot of her counseling on the premise that a suicidal man’s thoughts were just as dangerous as handing him a loaded gun, she’d give anything to know the content of them… She found Iker with her eyes and smiled as his light brown eyes found hers. “You two have a strong connection,” Liza noted just before she pressed further, “and solid support systems are fundamental for progression, for resilience. Have you two always been…?” She stopped as she watched Cristiano raise a condemning eyebrow towards the keeper which had triggered a look of disbelief from Iker. Though she hadn’t heard Cristiano’s voice, he had a way of communicating nonverbally that made Liza wonder why he’s ever feel the need to speak. “Is there anything that you guys would like to discuss? We don’t have to talk about resilience today. Whatever you guys see fit.”

Iker sighed and shrugged off Cristiano’s glare just before he started to speak. “There was a situation that had happened yesterday - it’s been going on for a couple of weeks now but it really blew up yesterday evening - and it carried over to this morning. I had expressed my concern over some of Cristiano’s coping mechanisms and maybe I came on a little too strongly… I thought I was being helpful but Cristiano didn’t feel as if I was being supportive, understanding of what he was going through. It’s just that the night before he… He had done the same thing and I panicked and he felt attacked and… I don’t know, I messed up.”

Liza’s eyes fell on Cristiano who seemed to be overly concerned with length of his nail. “What did he do yesterday Iker, what did he do that was so horrible?”

Iker glanced over at Cristiano who had stopped messing with his nail just long enough to shoot him a warning glare and tilted his head in a silent plea. “He had never drank before… The night before the suicide attempt was the first time I had ever seen him drink. I mean, he’s had glasses of champagne and wine every now and again but that was the only other time I had seen him drink in excess. I didn’t worry about it at the time, I knew he was going through a lot… Within twenty-four hours he was bleeding through his wrists though,” Iker choked out as the tears built up within him.

Liza sighed and handed Iker a tissue as she patted his knee reassuringly. “I’m going to spare you the lectures, Cristiano,” she spoke softly as she finally found the round eyes of the Portuguese winger, “you’re smart enough to know that alcohol is a depressant, smart enough to know that alcohol never numbs the pain of anything, that it intensifies emotions more than anything. With that said, I obviously don’t believe that you started drinking to numb the pain of whatever drove you slash your wrists… I don’t know why you started drinking - only you do - whether it’s because you subconsciously link alcohol to your father’s death or because you find a comfort in not being held completely responsible for your actions, whether you find a comfort in surrendering control of your body to a liquid or because rational thought is just too much for you to bear… The reasons you drink are your own but I’m sure you can understand why Iker was concerned at the very least?” She smiled softly as Cristiano nodded and pressed further, “ You understand that your suicide attempt didn’t only affect your life, it affected Iker’s as well and he has his own post-traumatic stress to silence… give the man a break,” she chuckled as she found legendary white smile of the winger, “he’s suffering.”

Iker smiled at the direction of the conversation and had no problem being the scapegoat if it meant a few more moments of that bright smile. He heard Liza dismiss Cristiano and he smiled as Cristiano threw a soft smile over his shoulder in his direction. “I think he’s going to be fine.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Liza sighed as she glanced over her notes, “I’m not too sure though. He seems withdrawn and, from what I understand, he’s usually quite sociable. I just wish I knew what was causing all of this.”

Iker bit his fingernail and nervously peeked around the corner, sighing as moved closer to Liza. “HIPPA prevents you from sharing what I say with anyone, right?” He watched as Liza nodded distractedly and silently cursed himself, Cristiano was going to kill him if he ever found out… “I know why Cristiano tried to take his own life,” he whispered as he suddenly found himself with Liza’s full attention. “I didn’t, I didn’t know what had happened until the the night before he tried to… the night he started drinking? That’s when he told me what had happened. You see, I had left my phone in the locker room after training by mistake,” Iker closed his eyes and wished away the vivid memories of that day, “Cristiano was still there. His body was at least. He was crumbled in the corner, there were bruises all over his body and the blood, oh god the blood was everywhere.” Iker hesitated for a moment as he became overwhelmed by the memory, “He begged me not to call anyone and I… I thought someone had gone in there and had beaten the shit out of him, thought that maybe, maybe he had initiated it or something and that was why he didn’t want the authorities involved…? I took him home with me that night, took care of him, stayed up with him… I should’ve known it was something bigger, he was so scared so… He was raped that night. Beaten and raped. Raped and left to pick up the pieces. It was… and I was… I should’ve called the first time. I should’ve… but I made damn sure I called the second time. I called the second time.”

She wasn’t supposed to hug her patients but she couldn’t let the man just sit there in the coldness of those memories, he needed a warm link to the present where Cristiano was alive recovering... but Cristiano wasn’t the only one recovering from those traumatic events. Iker had the guilt of not having done anything the first time, before Cristiano had thrown his last Hail Mary to jump out of his burning building. “He’s a prisoner in his own body,” Liza whispered more to herself than to Iker. It explained so much, why he chose to drink and why he reacted the way he had when Iker strongly opposed his decision to drink. “Tell me Iker,” she whispered as she pulled out of the embrace and found Iker’s gentle eyes, “has he tried coming on to you?” She bit her tongue a little too late but did her best to explain. “It’s just that recovering rape victims tend to be a little promiscuous, they begin to hold little value over their bodies and they become excessively…”

Iker was already nodding though and was holding his face within the palms of his hands. “Yeah, that same night he started drinking. He… We…” Iker was borderline hysterical but he hadn’t even considered that perhaps, perhaps there wasn’t anything there between them. “...but I thought… and then, this morning,” he drew in a large breath of air and collapsed his palms together, “this morning I went over to his house to check up on him, he had been so mad at me last night that he had left and hadn’t come home… I went by and he was there with, he was there in bed with someone else and they…”

Liza reached over and soothingly ran her hand over Iker’s knee, dismissing the need for him to continue. “I understand that you’re hurt Iker, and I don’t mean to hurt you further but relationships forged in crisis, particularly ones such as these, rarely ever make it. I know it must have been painful for you to see him with another person,” the details of Iker and Cristiano’s sexuality would have been surprising to her had they not been shadowed by the events that had led up to the suicide, “but he had a significant need and you were there to fill it. What happens when that significant need is gone, Iker? Will you still be needed then?”

...and that was the synopsis of all of Iker’s fears.

* * *

 

Iker gave Liza a wave as he watched her car disappear out of his driveway just before turning to head inside, contemplating what the hell he was supposed to do. He shook off the thought as Xabi’s voice took over, _‘Iker! Jesus fucking Christ. You better tell him when he gets back here or you’ll never forgive yourself and I swear… I am not dealing with that shit!’_ The keeper childishly mocked the Basque, sneering while rocking his head from side to side, as he stepped into the doorway and sighed as the silence of the house surrounded him. He made his way down the hallway, coming to a halt just outside of Cristiano’s room and ran his hand nervously behind his neck, trying to find the words to accompany the meaning of his thoughts. The door opened before he could, bringing him face to face with Cristiano.

“No,” Cristiano instantly but calmly rushed out. “I refuse to do rehab or any of that other AA bullshit and you can tell that…”

_Words? What were they and who ever needed them?_ Iker quickly and definitively silenced the babbling forward with his lips, hoping they’d convey the message as his mind had run completely blank at the sight of the Portuguese man. Hoping that the unspoken language would tell more than what’s been told, show the truth beyond the hours old lie. So this is what Robert Hutchinson had been talking about. It was Iker’s last fleeting thought as he lost himself in the kiss...

> _My lips to yours' wakes my soul; my lips to yours’ tell a secret that only my heart knows._
> 
> _Such grace as our eyes close;_

Iker wrapped his arms around the winger, vowing to never let him go again; once was enough and the second time was unbearable. A third time was unspeakable… No, I’m never going to let you go again. Iker placed a gentle hand on the rosy cheek of the Portuguese, rubbing his thumb over the high cheekbone.

> _And share a breath..._
> 
> _Words lose meaning and mean even less._

Iker promised himself, promised Cristiano in the kiss, that he would never take this for granted. That he would value Cris and everything they were and would never put them at risk again.

> _Lost in rapture of a perfect dance,_
> 
> _When two lovers leap and take a chance._

He wasn’t sure of what Cristiano wanted – him or Sergio – it didn’t matter in that moment. He wasn’t doing this for Cristiano as much as he was doing this for himself. He was taking the leap, putting himself out there. He was taking a risk, letting Cristiano take him or leave him.

> _first kiss not outdone by the second-_
> 
> _third kiss and surely the fourth one beckons!_

The mere thought of breaking the kiss, sent sickening shivers down the Spaniards spine… As he pulled away, hoping to find an answer in the eyes of the Portuguese, he was quickly pulled back in – incapable of quitting those lips of the winger, finding it easier to surrender in their ecstasy.

> _No day shall ever find a reason why,_
> 
> _No star could ever shine so divine... A million poets could try_
> 
> _But would fall every time,_
> 
> _When into rhyme they try to harness the passion of your lips pressed against mine._

Alive, he felt alive. Those lips made him feel as if he could conquer Spain, Europe – the world. He felt unstoppable, omnipotent, invincible… Nothing could bring him down… Except the confusion he found waiting for him in Cristiano’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem By: Robert Hutchinson - A Kiss


	14. See Me

_Look into my eyes. See me for who I am._

_Do you like what you see? If not, I’m yours to damn._

_Look into my eyes, please. Tell me you see the truth._

_Can you see past my lie? Words of a scared youth?_

_Please, my love, tell me you can see how I truly feel._

_Tell me that it’s there, tell me that you know it’s real._

_You don’t have to love me, simply acknowledge that I do._

_Never again to feel this way, not for anyone but you._

_Look into my eyes, my love. Please look long and hard._

_Tell me you see my vulnerability, for you I’ve dropped my guard._

_Tell me you see the regret, imbedded deep within my soul_

_Do you see the fire burning? Ash never to become of the coal._

_Look into my eyes, my love. Can you sense my fear?_

_Worried that you may say that our end is drawing near._

_Quivering, afraid but anything for my one true love,_

_One more kiss will have me floating up high above_

_The earth but one rejection will have me tumbling to the depths of hell_

_But for you, my love, anything. What will you have of me? I beg of you, do tell._

_Look into my eyes my love, and please listen close:_

_Hear the songbirds singing and hear the blooming of the rose,_

_You bring a song of life to my spirit, just by being here with me_

_Look into my eyes, my love. Acknowledgment, set me free._

_Tell me that you understand exactly why I said what I did._

_Tell me that you understand, why you made me feel like a kid._

_Giddy with emotion yet too frightened to disclose within you,_

_Tell me you’re not angry, better yet, tell me you feel it too._

_Look into my eyes, my love, but please feel no need to lie._

_Just recognize who I am before you. Scared, in love, shy._

_Tell me that you can see me. Standing here, heart on my sleeve._

_Tell me that you understand me, just say it before you leave._

_Tell me that you hear me, despite the emptiness of the air._

_Tell me that you see it, tell me that it’s really, truly there._

* * *

 

_Look into my eyes, my love, see the confusion piling high…_

_You said my love was unrequited, watched as a piece of me had died._

_Look into my eyes, my love. See the forgiveness, the sympathy_

_I, too, should’ve spoken. Please, don’t shed those tears for me._

_Look into my eyes, my love. See that you are not the only one at fault_

_I should’ve told you how I felt, rather than locking my emotions in a vault._

_I am looking into your eyes, and I’ve seen who you truly are_

_You’re just as lost as I am… Searching for that Northern Star._

_Look into my eyes, my love. And I beg of you, don’t you ever look away._

_We’ll find ourselves together, within one another. Our journey starts today._

_Feel my grasp around you, tell me that you know that I will never let you go_

_Tell me this was meant to be, though you don’t have to because I already know._

_Look into my eyes, my love, see me for who I am and then I challenge you to look away._

_Tell me that you feel us fusing together and then I dare you to show me any other way:_

> _Any other way, that is greater than this._
> 
> _Any other thing greater than our first kiss._
> 
> _Any better way of showing that you care,_
> 
> _Than by simply holding me, by simply being there._

_Look me in the eyes, my love, and I promise you that I’ll look deep into yours._

_Search them high and low, for in them we’ll find all of life’s remedies – life’s cures._

_Look deep into my soul, my love, see the spark you’ve instilled within my spirit._

_Place your head upon my chest, my love, and I swear that you will hear it._

_Place your head upon my chest, my love, lose the fear, the worry, and the anxiety._

_Place your head upon my chest my love, and know that you are where you were meant to be._

* * *

Iker looked up from Cristiano’s chest, tilting his head into the kiss as he was met halfway by the Portuguese winger, releasing a small sigh of relief. He melted at the contact as the warmth of reassurance and shivers of love requited surged through him, falling limp in the strong arms of the forward. As their lips danced and as their tongues waged war, as their hearts raced simultaneously and as their breathing deepened, as their hands roamed free and as they slowly started to become one not two… The doorbell rang, bouncing off the walls, sending an unpleasant shock coursing through their veins.

“Can we just ignore it?” Iker whispered out breathily, desperate to continue what they had started.

Cristiano looked down at his feet guiltily. “It’s Sergio. While you were out talking with with Liza I texted him. I thought... I thought you guys were talking about sending me to AA and I didn’t think… You had said...”

“Sh”, Iker breathed out interrupting the rambling of the forward, “I know what I said and I know what you thought. I understand completely,” Iker muttered back, biting his lip in a vain attempt to hold back his tears as he nodded his head. “I mean, I did tell you that I was fine with…”

“I should’ve never… I would’ve never…” Cristiano tried but failed in finding the words to complete his thoughts, “...but it’s complicated. I’m going to try to talk to him, okay?”

Iker furrowed his brows and looked deep into Cristiano’s eyes. Something was definitely wrong. “I don’t understand what’s so complicated about it?” The doorbell rang again, only it rang multiple times in rapid succession.

“I’ll…uh… I’ll explain later, yeah?” Cristiano leaned forward placing one last passionate kiss on the lips of the Spaniard before making his way to the front door.

The keeper smiled softly to himself, thinking that that kiss was definitely worth saving. So Iker grabbed at his lips with his hand forming a fist and swiftly placed the fist against his chest, slowly opening his hand until his palm lay flat against his chest.

* * *

 

“I was starting to get worried. I was about to kick in the door just to make sure that you were alright,” Sergio laughed as he looked down at his sandals, “splinters be damned.”

Cristiano offered him an awkward smile, unsure of what he was supposed to do. _Do I invite him inside of Iker’s house? Do I step outside with him? Or do I…?_

“Let’s grab some coffee.” Sergio pointed over to his car before poking his head inside. “Hey, Iker! Do you want some coffee?”

Cristiano looked over his shoulder, pleading for the older Spaniard to decline however his facial cues went unnoticed as Iker shouted back, “Sure! You can just order for me since you and I like the same things apparently.” Iker’s voice was dry and condescending and his glare was on point.

“Really? Since when?” The Sevillan responded, completely missing the jab, spurring a groan and an eye roll from the goalie. “Well, if you say so.” Sergio replied, dismissing the actions of the keeper as an act of tiredness. The defender spun around, heading to his car but not before reaching behind him to grab Cristiano’s hand in his.

Cristiano released an involuntary shiver at the contact, one incomparable to the tremors Iker seemed to give him. He felt all warm and fuzzy with Iker, with Sergio it was more subjugating but comfortably so. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_

Iker closed the door smiling as Cristiano shot him one last soft smile of reassurance: I’m here and I’m yours.

* * *

 

_How can they have only been gone for five minutes? I swear, they’ve been gone longer than that. There’s no fucking way…_ Iker’s train of thought crashed and bursted into flames as a loud ringing noise filled the house. He glanced down at his phone noting that it was a) not lit up, b) making no noises whatsoever, and c) not vibrating. “What the…” _Oh, Cristiano must have left his phone here,_ Iker thought as he left the kitchen area and headed down that hallway. As he pushed open the door, he saw the device going mad atop of an open book and hesitantly picked up the convulsing piece of technology.

“Pepe” he read aloud, placing the phone down on the nightstand choosing to let the Portuguese defender leave a message for Cristiano to hear. Cristiano had been complaining for the past three or four days about having to play phone tag with Pepe. Who was he to ruin the fun? Iker quickly pulled a one-eighty and headed for the door but abruptly stopped just before leaving the room. He glanced over his shoulder, back at the book lying open on the bed. Noting that Cristiano wasn’t an enthusiastic reader, he slowly approached the bed, immediately realizing that this particular book was not one for reading rather it was purposed for writing. Blatant curiosity drove him to reach down and pick up the thick, little book. He flipped through the pages, not bothering to stop on any one page simply shocked to see them so full. _Cristiano has a journal?_

  
  
  



	15. Taijitu

Some say that you cannot come to know peace without first knowing war; that you would never know you were in the dark if you had never seen the light. Still others say that was the way it was intended to be; that we were meant to go about our lives blissfully ignorant to the differences between the calm and the storm… That we were meant to live life as it was 'intended' to be lived, taking each moment for what it is without the labels of good and bad – merely accepting it as balanced and the way it should be. They were like night and day, Sergio and Iker, and he was stuck somewhere in the middle, walking the line of his balance but finding no peace as he did so... He knew he couldn’t have them both, knew that he didn’t want them both, but he didn’t know what he wanted, who he wanted.

Iker: the epitome of patience and kindness – two qualities he really needed in a partner right now. Iker grounded him, kept him realistic but still managed to lift him up. He was sensitive, easy to talk to about nearly everything, and he could entrust him with almost anything. He had always respected the number one, even more so now that he found his heart within the keeper’s grasp… Iker lacked the assertion he needed right now, though. He couldn’t even tell him ‘yes’ when he had asked if there was something going on between them. Of course he understood that Iker was afraid… He’s always loved a bit of modesty but insecurity? That was not what he needed, especially not now. He needed someone who was sure of himself, someone who was sure of him...

Cristiano glanced over at Sergio, nervously drumming on his kneecaps with his fingers, and redirected his eyes out of the passenger side window. It was like flipping a light switch: Sergio seemed to hold an autocratic power over him; Cris knew what Sergio wanted and expected of him and was constantly informed of the Sevillan’s intentions. He was completely secure with who he was - hell, he lacked Iker’s humility - and what he was doing. Most people would probably avoid somebody of that nature but he had always found comfort and refuge in expectations – something that had translated over to his career. Sergio was confident and outspoken, and Cristiano loved that he simply took what he wanted, though his most recent experience with Sergio’s ‘ambitious’ nature had resulted in the Sevillan crossing some serious lines. He wasn’t really innocuous and was far from the most emotionally stabilizing person for him to be around…

The winger groaned, suddenly feeling ill at the pit of his stomach as, what he believed to be, a memory induced pressure wrapped around his wrists. He looked down finding that it wasn’t in his mind rather Sergio’s fingers had, indeed, come together to form a bracelet around his wrist. If there was anything worse than the memory of that night then it was the feeling of those hands there again. His mind raced as he frantically pulled his hand out of the grasp of the man from Camas, eyes glaring at the face of the other in warning: _never again._

“I’m sorry. I was just a little concerned.” Sergio cleared his throat and gave Cristiano a sincerely apologetic smile. “Is something bothering you? I mean, did something happen at your therapy session that has you all…?” Sergio waved his free hand in the air, letting the action finish his sentence for him. He was legitimately confused. After their breakfast earlier in the day, Sergio had persuaded Cristiano into finishing what they had started before Xabi had walked in on them. While he had noticed that Cristiano wasn’t completely into it, he wasn’t nearly as detached as he was a few moments ago.

“I’m fine,” Cristiano whispered back in a way that told Sergio that everything was not fine. Sensing that Sergio was about to press the issue he tried for a change of subject. “So, Jose and Fernando, huh?”

Sergio swallowed hard and nearly swallowed his own tongue. “Ye-yeah. Crazy, right?” Sergio rambled out, looking over at Cristiano with false sense of surprise.

Feeling as if an opportunity had presented itself in Sergio’s response, Cristiano pounced. “You still have feelings for him, don’t you? It’s okay, I mean, you two probably…”

“No.” Sergio rushed out, recognizing that Cristiano was at the verge of dismissing him. After Iker had left, Cristiano had seemed a bit depressed and Sergio could easily see what the two meant for one another – they were obvious and were pretty perfect for one another. “I’m with you now.” Sergio needed him now, though it wasn’t in the typical way one was needed in a relationship. “Look, Cris. I know you’re going through a difficult time right now…

Cristiano laughed, though he was far from amused. It was sarcastic and filled with “no shit’s” and “you think’s” and “I wonder why that is”.

“Goddamnit, Cris,” Sergio groaned as he pulled into the drive thru of the coffee house and pressed the brake to avoid hitting the car in front of them. “That’s not what I… I know that you need someone who can make you feel protected,” Sergio started as he turned to find Cristiano staring out of the passenger side window, waving to an excited little boy in the car beside them. He could see him smiling as the boy’s mother turned to scold him, stopping only as she too caught sight of Cristiano and started waving frantically. Sergio reached over and placed a gentle hand on Cristiano’s thigh, continuing only when the man looked back at him. “I know why you’re disregarding everything that I’m saying, Cristiano. I know you don’t trust me and I haven’t, I haven’t really given you a reason to. I know that.”  He released the brake for moment and let his car move forward on it’s own as the line progressed through the drive. “I just, you had always cared about me and has always seemed to be there, always gave me what I needed when I was feeling hurt or whatever. I know it was wrong of me to expect you to just give me what I took from you, I know that and I can only hope that you believe me when I tell you that I am so, so sorry Cristiano.” He threw up his hands as a car cut in front of them and turned to find Cristiano impressed with the audacity of the car now in front of them. “ Can we, can we just try this thing out,” he asked as Cristiano turned back to look at him, “can we just see where this takes us? I promise to spend the entirety of this thing we’re doing making up for all the ways I wronged you. I promise. I just…”

Cristiano rubbed at his eyes and breathily laughed to himself, at himself. It was ludicrous that he felt a dependency on Sergio, ludicrous that he was even considering a relationship with the man who had…  “I’m not going to treat Iker as if he’s some sort of ‘fall back’. He deserves better than that.”

Sergio shook his head and bit his lip as he tried to come up with an alternative. “I’m sure we can talk it out with Iker,” Sergio thought out loud, “come to an agreement that way you don’t make a decision that you’ll regret for the rest of your life. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up dating both of us and figuring out where you want to go from there,” Sergio offered, trying to hide the desperation in his voice.

Cristiano couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of the two Spaniards sharing him. It was simply ridiculous. “How the hell would that work? Is there going to be some kind of set schedule? Shit…” It was amusing, “I’ll be the next face of polygamous relationships,” he laughed out as he rolled down Sergio’s car window to give someone an autograph, wincing as a flashing light found him. He felt his breath quicken and his heart raced as he quickly forced the window back up, he wasn’t ready for any of that yet - too soon.

Sergio smiled as he pulled forward, simply happy to hear the laugh of the number seven again. “I’m fairly certain there’s going to be a ‘no sex’ rule...” Sergio flinched as he said it and laughed as Cristiano shook his head in admonishment, “who knows, it could work?”

“Let’s just focus on grabbing some coffee first.”

* * *

 

>  
> 
> 10 August 2013
> 
> _Fucking Journal, of whom I shall refer to as Ed from this moment on,_
> 
> _I don’t know how much longer I can do this. To just stand here and say nothing. How am I supposed to go any longer without just exploding and telling him everything? I don’t get how easily I can hide my sexuality, like I can just sweep it under the rug, but want to burst every time I’m around him. I just can’t hold it in anymore. I never could in the four years that I’ve been here but I’ve tried. But now I’m getting tired… Why has he always been so different?_
> 
> _He’s supportive: but pretty much all of my teammates are. I mean, I know it’s expected of him to choose me over Messi, he bleeds the white of Madrid, but it doesn’t take away the gratitude I feel for his persistence on the matter… Maybe it’s the small kisses he leaves on my neck? Maybe it’s the small touches and the smiles? Maybe it’s the way I could come home from a dinner with him and suddenly feel secure with the man in the mirror, the one hidden and locked away behind this devilishly good looking mask of mine? Maybe it’s the way he’s always made me feel as if I can talk to him, without worrying about judgment? I don’t have to worry about what to say or how to say it, it’s as if he truly understands me… Maybe that’s all in my head? Maybe I’ve loved him for so long, with nothing in return, that my mind has transformed every small gesture of kindness and assurance to a grandiose act of affinity._
> 
> _Why did I have to fall in love with him?_
> 
> _I mean, I remember the day I realized I loved him… rolling around on the pitch, laughing hysterically. I knew that I’d do anything he asked of me, I knew I’d be there for him no matter what._

Iker jumped as his phone rang in his pocket, dropping Cristiano’s journal to the floor in the process. _Shit, shit, shit._ The goalie picked up the book, and all of the random loose pages that had fallen out of it, as quickly as possible before he started to dig around his pocket, eventually fishing out his phone. _Xabi, you fucker._

“I’m a little pissed that I didn’t have a single voicemail from you. What part of ‘call me after you two talk’ do you not understand?” Xabi growled through his end of the phone call. “I swear, Iker, if you didn’t discuss your feelings for him with him then…”

“Why hello to you as well Xabi.” Iker sighed responsively into the phone, shifting all of his weight to one leg. “We didn’t really do much talking and you told me…”

“Iker, why do you have to have so much self-doubt in real life? Is it really too much to ask for your pitch ego to leave with you every once in a while? That’s it, I’m doing a conference call. Give me a second.”

“No Xabi, I told him... Just not with my words.” Iker pleaded into the phone. “Don’t call him, you’ll make me look like a bitch going for overkill on the matter.”

“How do I know you’re not just saying that to keep me from calling him? Suppressing your feelings like this isn’t healthy for anyone…”

Iker chuckled at his compatriot’s concern and bit his lip as he gradually began to shake his head. He felt himself blush simply thinking about the moment of intimacy he had shared with Cristiano. “I did tell him, I swear. It was perfect, Xabi. He had been jabbering about his refusal to do AA and I just went for it.”

“Was he surprised? I mean, did he even know that you were…? You know, ‘homosexual’?”

Iker groaned as he looked up towards the ceiling, swearing that he had just had this discussion. “Xabi, I’m bisexual and biromantic, not homo anything. That part didn’t surprise him at all, though. Me kissing him after telling him that there was nothing between us…? That’s what shocked him.”

“You kissed him but he already knew you were attracted to men…? How the hell did I find out after Cristiano?”

Iker internally whined as he decided it was time to fess up. “We’ve had sex before Xabi. I mean…”

“What?! What the fuck do you mean you guys had sex?! And you didn’t tell me… When did this happen? I mean, don't you think something like that bers some kind of importance on the matter? I'm no expert but sleeping with a person is a pretty big deal, especially when that person happens to be a teammate.”

Iker was just relieved that this conversation was happening over the phone; he could just picture Xabi putting him in a chokehold before trying to stuff his head in the toilet. “The night before he tried killing himself. I may have kissed him after he confided in me and it may have progressed to the bedroom. I just wasn’t sure if he had gone through with it for comfort or if it was something that he had truly wanted. I mean, I think I know now but…”

“What about Sergio, though? Isn’t he involved with Cristiano now? I could be wrong but that seems like something that would, you know, complicate things.”

“Yeah,” Iker sighed,  “but Cristiano said he’d try to talk to him. Said it was ‘complicated’ and that he’d explain later. They left a little bit ago to go grab some coffee...” As if on cue, Iker heard the sound of a car pulling up into the driveway. “Actually, I think they just pulled up. I have to go man. Call you back later?”

“You better. Good luck!”

Not wanting Cristiano to catch him snooping about his room, Iker quickly jogged into his own, panicking further as he heard the front door opening. He hadn’t realized that he was still holding Cris’ journal until he heard voices coming from within the dining room. _Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me._ Iker hurriedly tucked the little book in between his mattress and his headboard, doing his best not to disturb bedding and fixed his comforter just as Cristiano appeared in his doorway.

“Oh shit, Cris. You scared me.” Iker laughed nervously as he turned towards the Portuguese who was leaned up against the door frame. “Is everything okay?”

Cristiano bit his lip and shook his head slowly. “I’m more than a little fucked up, huh?”

Iker shot Cristiano a confused expression. “I wouldn’t say that you’re fucked up, just a little lost. You went through a major ordeal and just cracked under the pressure. No one expects you to have everything figured out, Cristiano. Definitely not so soon.” Iker walked up to the forward and wrapped his arms around him comfortingly. “You couldn’t tell him, could you?”

Cristiano shook his head, feeling ashamed of himself. It didn’t make any sense, how he could be so confused?

“Look, Cristiano, I’m not upset. It’s okay.” Iker pulled away from the number seven and looked deeply into his eyes, reassuring him that it was in fact okay. “Did you at least tell him that you and I…?”

Cristiano nodded. “He suggested that we all talk it out together. You know, throw everything out there and see where to go from there. I just don’t think it’s right to be…”

“Cristiano,” Iker interrupted him before he could finish giving voice to his thought, “I care about you and obviously he does, too. I'll do whatever it is you need to figure out what it is you truly want. I just want you to be happy.”

Cristiano leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on the keeper’s lips, once again trying to figure out why the hell he was so confused.

* * *

 

Olalla paced within what had once been their kitchen, trying to put words to her thoughts and tried to figure out how she’d ever be able to give voice to them. She had just flown back in from the Spanish coast and needed to talk to Fernando as soon as possible. She glanced around, searching for something, for anything, to occupy her mind, and decided to whip up something small. By the time Fernando was pulling into the driveway her pineapple empanadas were finished.

Fernando slowly walked into the house, having seen Olalla’s car out in the drive, and cautiously put his duffle on the floor. He was surprised to find her sitting quietly at the bar eating what smelled to be an empanada.

Olalla looked up from her plate, acknowledging Fernando, and encouraged him to take the seat beside her where another empanada rested, untouched, on a plate.

Sitting down in front of the dessert, Fernando quickly noted that it appeared too perfect to the result of Olalla’s cooking. He dismissed it with a thought: _it’s probably been poisoned._ “What are you doing here, Olalla? Are the kids okay?” Fernando unsuccessfully tried to catch his [still] wife’s eye.

Olalla nodded, pushing a pineapple around on her plate. “I just wanted to apologize for acting so rashly, it was irrational and…”

“Where the fuck is this coming from Olalla? You don’t have to apologize for anything. I’m the one who messed…”

“Fernando, please,” Olalla pleaded choking back her tears. “This hard enough as it is.”

“Olalla, you don’t have to…”

“I’m pregnant, Fernando!” She shouted much louder than necessary. “And no, the baby’s not yours.” Her tears already started to fall and she could already hear her mind attacking her, reminding her of her hypocrisy. “I already called John and…”

“John? We don't know a John…” Well, Olalla doesn’t know a John or so he thought. Unless she was talking about… No she couldn’t be talking about... “as in Terry?”

"Fernando, I’m so sorry.”


	16. Sixty-Six Percent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Waving at a familiar face only to realize it’s a complete stranger. Thinking that you’re responding to a question asked of you only to realize the ‘supplicant’ was on the phone. Pushing a door that boldly says to push. Telling a person goodbye only to realize that the two of you are headed in the same direction. That moment when you send a personal text message to the wrong person. Asking a World War II veteran if he enjoyed his tour in whatever foreign country he’d been stationed in. Sitting at this table, about to have that talk._

Waving at a familiar face only to realize it’s a complete stranger. Thinking that you’re responding to a question asked of you only to realize the ‘supplicant’ was on the phone. Pushing a door that boldly says to push. Telling a person goodbye only to realize that the two of you are headed in the same direction. That moment when you send a personal text message to the wrong person. Asking a World War II veteran if he enjoyed his tour in whatever foreign country he’d been stationed in. Sitting at this table, about to have that talk.

Cristiano fiddled with the lid of his Styrofoam cup, finding himself incapable of looking into the eyes of either of the two Spaniards. Iker and Sergio alike had told him not to feel guilty for being completely and utterly confused, for having feelings for both of them… but he couldn’t silence the discomfort brought on by the knowledge that he was responsible for the awkward vibe encompassing the kitchen air. He didn’t like tugging them both along on his journey to re-discover himself and Iker certainly deserved more than this, than being stood up alongside Sergio to be weighted and deemed as ‘worthy’ for him. Damn Sergio, Cristiano thought, wanting to place the blame anywhere else and Sergio certainly made a fine candidate. When he was with Iker, holding him in his arms, he knew that they were meant to be with one another, perfect for one another. Throw Sergio into the mix and suddenly fate didn’t exist.

“Cris.” Iker’s voice was quiet yet firm. “Are you okay? You seem to be spacing out a bit. I know this is a difficult thing to discuss but we’re here for you when you’re ready.” Iker placed a reassuring hand on the Portuguese’s shoulder and offered Sergio a small (though meaningless) smile. He still had his reservations about the Sevillan but if he was what would make Cristiano happy then who was he to deter the forward. He was just accused of having a lack of support for his choices only a few hours ago and he wasn’t going to be slapped with that label again.

“This just doesn’t feel right. No matter what you two tell me this isn’t okay.” Cristiano continued tracing the brim of his lid with his finger, still not brave enough to face the two. “Can somebody just tell me what to do?”

Sergio chuckled breathily, placing his palms flat on the table top and spreading his fingers as far as they could go. _Oh Cristiano, bless you and your schema of subjugation._

Iker shook his head, both in answer and in defeat. The first night they had spent together was all about getting Cristiano to take back control but now… He just wanted to see a spark of Cris’ ambitious old self, a spark of the man who had once claimed that he was hated because he was ‘good -looking, rich, and talented’, a spark of the man who always maintained his composure under high pressure and who took action without a second thought. Hell, he wouldn’t mind seeing the man who had looked into his eyes from a hospital bed who had claimed Saint Jude brought him back to him, to Iker. “This is your decision, Cristiano. You have to be the one to make it. Neither I nor Sergio can tell you what to do, which of us is best suited for you. Neither of us know you better than you. “

“Maybe I shouldn’t be involved with anyone then, you think? Maybe I need to be alone...” Live forever alone. Die alone.

Iker groaned, realizing that Cristiano was still seeking approval from either himself or Sergio. Before he could speak, though, Sergio’s voice broke into the conversation.

“What do you think Cristiano? Whatever you decide, you’ll always have myself and Iker as support systems.” To be completely honest, Sergio would rather share Cristiano than be friend zoned after the night before. Fernando had sent him numerous messages since their conversation apologizing for Jose and asking who the hell he was with last night. He loved seeing Fernando suffer like that, needed Fernando to suffer... The fact that Fernando was jealous even without the knowledge that it was Cristiano he was with last night made it all the better.

_Please don’t put me in the friend zone. I hate that place. Just knowing that you were with Sergio last night killed me a little on the inside. Don’t choose him over me. I’ll do any-_ “I have an idea,” Iker spoke up, looking at the other man. There was a thirty-three percent chance Cristiano decided he wanted to be with him, the other sixty-six would leave him with a broken heart. The odds were not in his favor but he had every intention of changing that, making the sixty-six percent his.

Sergio smiled to himself as he watched Iker cave under the pressure. He knew that he was wise to place his faith in the obviously love-struck keeper; he knew there was no way Iker would truly put himself in an unfavorable position, that’s why he was the best goalie in the world.

“This might sound a bit odd but have you thought about dating both of us? You can date multiple people, it’s being in a relationship with more than one person that has people pulling the gloves come off…” Iker smiled over at the Portuguese man, “I just don’t want to see you do something you’ll regret. I mean, I’m all in but you need to take your time and figure out what’s best for you. No commitment, just dating and figuring out what works for you, who works for you.” He glance over at Sergio and tilted his head in question.

Sergio nodded before speaking, “I mean, I know I was kidding about it before but I truly think this really could work.” Mission accomplished.

Cristiano simply sat there, still in a state of shock over Iker suggesting such a thing. He had thought that Sergio may have mentioned it to him but it had quickly dawned on him that Iker and Sergio hadn’t been alone together nor had they carried on any side conversations since last night. He knew Iker was definitely stepping out of his element for him and he was purely mind blown.

Iker glanced over at the forward, unsure of what Cristiano thought of it all. “Cris, are you okay with… I mean, It’s your life.”

Cristiano furrowed his brows but nodded definitively as Sergio dismissed himself, and heard Sergio telling him that he’d text later.

As the door closed, Iker wasted no time in locking his lips to Cristiano’s. It wasn’t soft, not this time, but hungry and desperate. He felt as if he had almost lost Cristiano and it wasn’t a feeling he liked, not at all. He needed to taste Cristiano, simply grateful that he still could. He needed to feel the younger man pressed up against his body, simply because he still had the opportunity. He needed their sweat to fuse together, simply because their two could still become one.

Cristiano negligently broke the kiss, panting and gasping for air. Those lips knocked the wind right out of him. “I thought, I mean I am definitely feeling this, but I thought we had to wait ninety days or some shit now that we’re dating.”

* * *

 

He couldn’t be mad, could he? If he were a woman then he’d probably be pregnant, too. He had cheated on her so why was he so upset about her cheating on him? Oh yeah, that’s right… he cheated on her with his friend while she did so with his teammate, his captain. That was the problem.

He had heard of John’s alleged affair with a teammate’s wife but had dismissed it as a fabrication of the media. Who’s laughing now, media? You are, Fernando thought as he stared up at the clock. His attention quickly snapped back to Olalla, though, as another thought befell him. He remembered reading in the magazines about how John had gotten the target of his affair pregnant, only this time it was Olalla in her place… John had his last ‘reported’ mistress abort the baby.

“Olalla, maybe we should just say that the baby is ours.” Fernando spoke up, eyeing her stomach protectively.

Olalla sighed and looked over at her husband, trying to figure out what the hell he had meant. “… and why would we do that, Fernando? John and I are meeting up tomorrow afternoon to talk strategy... Are we trying to portray some false sense of loyalty or something? We both messed up in that category, love, and now we have to face the music.”

“Remember the year we arrived here, Olalla.” Fernando mused, his mind already set. “Well, the year before that the press was going mad about John having had an affair with the wife of one of his teammates, the story was identical to this… He had her abort the baby, Olalla. He had her kill an innocent human being because he messed up and didn’t want to deal with the consequences of it. I can almost guarantee you that the same will happen tomorrow. So you’re going to go and withdraw your petition for divorce and we are going to raise this child alongside Nora and Leo. We’re both great parents together, maybe we can just be roommates or some shit like that… but I’m not going to allow anything to happen to that baby.”

Tears formed in Olalla’s eyes as her husband spoke, never having seen him so passionate about something outside of football. “Are you sure, Nando? It’s a lot to take in…”

“I’m sure that if I sit idly by and allow him to convince you to get an abortion that I will never be able to forgive myself.” Fernando placed a gentle hand on Olalla’s stomach, vowing to himself that he wouldn’t allow this kid’s father to end his or her journey before it even began. “I do a lot of messed up things and I’ve hurt a lot of people… Letting an innocence soul die due to my inaction, though? That I could never do.”

Olalla sniffled, trying to pull her tears back to their origins. “What am I supposed to tell John when I see him tomorrow then?” Olalla’s did her best to regain her composure: straightening her blouse, sweeping her hair back, rubbing away any smeared eyeliner.

“That you and I have talked and worked it out.” Fernando stated simply, cursing the complexities of the female mind and thanking God that he didn’t have one.

“Thank you, Fernando.” Olalla whispered as she stood up from the barstool, placing a gentle kiss on his rosy cheeks. Just before she left, she scribbled down an address and a room number on the magnetic notepad clinging to the refrigerator. “This is where you can find me, love. I’ll call my parents and let them know that the kids will be back here in, say, a weeks’ time?”

Fernando nodded, offering Olalla a sympathetic smile as she slipped out of the door. As soon as he heard her car pulling out of the drive, he whipped his phone out of his pocket.

> Sergio Ramos: Why do you care so much about who I was with last night?
> 
> Fernando Torres: I’m just worried about you. I mean, first you were acting extremely odd during the break…
> 
> Sergio Ramos: I was bitter and I have already apologized for that… numerous times.
> 
> Fernando Torres: Then you ended our call abruptly last night…
> 
> Sergio Ramos: I told you I had to check on somebody for Iker.
> 
> Fernando: All I was asking was who you had gone to see last night.
> 
> Sergio Ramos: I didn’t want to tell you because I know how jealous you can get.
> 
> Fernando: Me? Jealous?
> 
> Sergio Ramos: I was with Cristiano last night.
> 
> Fernando: I get that he’s going through a rough time but I need you too. You need to get your priorities straight.

* * *

> _“You do free kicks with Cristiano a lot? I mean, you guys spend a lot of time together?”_
> 
> _“I did. He has a pretty sweet technique and gives pretty solid advice,” Sergio’s face scrunched as he searched Fernando’s expression for any clues as to where this was going. Was he getting jealous? Sergio had never seen Fernando become jealous over him in the past, it was usually, no, always the other way around. “But of course, he never gives away his secrets for free.”_
> 
> _Fernando’s head snapped up to attention as Sergio finished and he studied the smile on Sergio's face to see if the other man was being serious. “Oh. So what kind of things do you have to do to get into his little free kick fan club?”_
> 
> _Sergio smiled with satisfaction at the bitchy edge that suddenly seemed to surround Fernando’s voice. “Well,” Sergio grinned, sitting on the recliner. “I’m currently teaching him how to slide in and come out clean.” He winked, forcing the innuendo._
> 
> _Fernando scoffed in disbelief and smiled in amusement. "He any good at it?"_
> 
> _"Oh yeah, one of the best. He can come in from any angle, slide in deep, and pull it out clean. He's in and out, total power. Total accuracy."_
> 
> _He watched with pleasure as Fernando gritted his teeth together in a semi-jealous fit. In the three years that they had been "together but not", this was another first for him. Fernando, envious of the idea of Sergio spending one-on-one time with anyone other than him? He was going to savor this, especially after all that he had put him through. He could feel Fernando's hand on his chest, pressing, his lips on his lips, tasting, and his his hips suddenly against his own, begging..._

  
  



	17. A Silly Thing Called Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Trust and love should walk hand in hand_

He tightly closed his eyes, praying that the ringing would stop. He would do anything, say anything if it would kill the noise of that loud, incessant ringing in his ears. The smell of hand sanitizer and cleaning chemicals he could take and never mind the unnecessarily bright lights. Have to park a mile away due to the lack of parking? Forget about it. Not enough seating so you’re going to have to stand to avoid looking like an inconsiderate asshole? No worries. Fernando glared over at the receptionist. Just pick up the damn phone already. “Doctor Yvetta Arryano, Obstetric Gynecologist’s office. How may I assist you sir or ma’am?”

Fernando released a sigh of relief and looked over at Olalla who sat just beside where he had stood up against the wall, flipping through an outdated magazine. She looked beautiful: her face was made luminous by the glow of pregnancy, her hair was thick and appeared healthier than usual, her dark blue dress complimented her bronze skin, and her face couldn’t be any more beautiful than it seemed to be when she went without makeup… and he cheated on her. Fernando thought about the next day’s training session and quickly dismissed his thoughts – was still cheating on her.

Olalla threw her magazine back down on the coffee table in exasperation, skimming the room searching for something else to occupy her mind. She glanced up at Fernando and smiled gently, tugging on his shirt to capture the man’s attention, completely unaware that he had just looked away from her only a second ago. “Thank you for this,” she whispered sincerely. She had already spoken with John and he had asked her when she wanted to go to the clinic for an abortion as soon as he had caught sight of her. Though she had told him that Fernando intended on raising the baby alongside Nora and Leo he had insisted on her getting an abortion. Their conversation ended with her telling him to ‘fuck off’ while throwing a grape at him. “I appreciate your support so much and I think you should be reminded of that on a daily basis.”

Looking down at the beautiful woman, Fernando simply smiled and squeezed her shoulder. “There was no way I was just going to allow you to terminate a life for another man’s dignity. We’re going to raise this baby within our family and this baby will know nothing but love.” Fernando had thought long and hard about his family: first Nora and Leo, then his sister Maria and brother Israel, and finally his parents. This child deserved that, not an early death nor even an absent dick-head like John for a father. “A child deserves nothing less.”

“Olalla Domínguez Liste!”

Olalla stood up and made her way over to the nurse who stood holding the door open, a grin covering her face and eyes that said ‘I know you!’. Turning towards her husband she offered him the chance to wait for her out there, in the lobby.

Fernando scoffed and looked at her as if she had just informed him that she was a man. “…and miss hearing my baby’s heartbeat? Bitch, you must be crazy.”

The Galician woman smiled, tears threatening to say hello to the sterile air around them. “It’s settled then.”

* * *

 Blood. Ripe tomatoes. Apples. Peppers. Roses. Cherries. Strawberries. Ladybugs. Elmo. Red, the symbolism of life and vitality, of energy and of the most profound urges and impulses. Red? He was definitely seeing red. John pulled at his hair as he paced the length of his kitchen, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do. He couldn’t let another man raise his kid, especially not some sissy-fuck like Fernando Torres, but he couldn’t force Olalla to get an abortion either, could he? John glanced over at the pictures of his twins, Georgie and Summer, smiling as he remembered the day that picture had been taken. It was a candid, they were all at the park having something of a picnic and the twins had gotten some chocolate all over their faces… He envisioned another child in the picture with them, a much younger one. _No,_ he thought shaking his head to clear his mind as if it was an etch-a-sketch, _Toni would never allow that. Besides, what would the media say? What would the fans think? And I really don’t need to give the rival fans any more of a reason to chant ‘Chelsea wherever you may be, don’t leave your wife with John Terry?"_ John rubbed at his face, sliding his hand down from his forehead to cover his mouth. It had been easy to convince Vanessa to go for the abortion, she was close with Toni and was more concerned about her image than he had been. One million pounds later and it never happened. But Olalla…

“Hey, love. What are you doing in here?”

John hurriedly met his wife’s curious stare, guiltily dismissing his thoughts fearing that Toni would be able to read him easily; they had been childhood sweethearts and she had developed an uncanny ability to read him. So uncanny was it that she had quickly found out about Vanessa and conceded to his assertions of it being nothing more than a ‘silly fling’. “I’m just thinking.”

“You never think,” Toni sighed disbelievingly as she made her way towards her husband. “What is it John?” She knew that look, he had done something wrong and now it was biting him in the butt.

John sighed, exasperated, wanting to redirect the conversation in a less incriminating direction. “Nothing’s wrong, Toni. How did you enjoy your shopping date with your mother?”

Toni sighed, biting her lip in frustration. “We had a splendid time. I bought a couple of new outfits for myself and few things for the children. What did you do John?” She looked at him expectantly, waiting for his answer.

“I told you, dear, there’s not anything wrong and I haven’t done anything.” John sighed out, doing his best to convince her. He hung his head downwards but adverted his eyes back to Toni. “I like that blouse, dear. Is it new?” John tried again.

“You bought it for me, John. Now what did you do?” Toni asked, crossing her arms tapping one set of her fingers against her bicep.

“Did you know Olalla and Fernando are having another baby?” _My baby._ There it was, that’s all he had to tell her, right?

“Oh my goodness! How exciting! As you are his team captain, we have to throw their baby shower. It’s settled! I’m texting her right now!” And with that she was off.

_Fuck me,_ John thought as he turned to dig around his fridge in search of comfort foods. _Fuck me, I have to work this shit out with Fernando._

* * *

 Iker sighed as he lay absolutely spent in the arms of the man that he loved. He could just lay there forever, with Cristiano, and just let the world melt and fall away around him. The rest of the world, the rest of society didn’t matter – this was all he needed. He just had to show Cris that this was all he needed, too. Piece of him had hoped he had done just that in their last hour of love making. He knew Cristiano had stamina but damn….

Cristiano stretched out beneath him, dramatically writhing his body around, kicking at the comforter until it rested just on his hips.

Iker felt the muscles strain and relax, strain and relax underneath him, the sudden movement motivating him to playfully grab at the areola of the younger man. “Do you ever hold still? I’m tired, Cris.”

“It’s a bit early to go to bed…” Cristiano laughed back, though Iker picked up a bit of something else in his voice.

The Spaniard glanced up on a hunch, catching the mischievous smile of the Portuguese. Of course he was right in his assumption. “I don’t think Sergio would appreciate whatever you have in mind.” Iker responded to the nonverbal invitation with a hint of bitterness and jealousy as he emphasized the Sevillan’s name.

The forward giggled and covered his face. “Sergio was giving me a blowjob when you and Xabi showed up and we finished after you guys left. I don’t think the balance has been restored quite yet. Besides, my function in the bedroom is completely different with you than it is with him.” Cristiano gently lifted Iker’s head up by the chin to meet him in a slow, erotic kiss. Cristiano negligently yet purposefully broke the kiss, allowing his lips to linger over Iker’s, touching but just barely. “…but I mean, if you don’t want to upset Sergio…” Cristiano whispered seductively.

Incapable of saying ‘no’ to Cristiano when his voice sounded so enticing and simply delighted that the younger man had wanted more of him , Iker succumbed to the offer and climbed on top of the winger. The Spaniard passionately kissed and sucked at that full, bottom pouting lip, simply grateful that Cristiano was still within his reach, still here with him. After he was sure he had given the lips of the number seven a proper amount of attention, he moved down to continue his passionate assault on the neck of the younger man.

Cristiano reached up, needing to grab a hold on something but not anything that would deter the Spaniard from his current objective, and grasped at the top of the mattress. He became distracted when the tips of his finger collided with something hard wedged between the headboard and the mattress. _What the…?_ Cristiano was immediately pulled from his thought as Iker placed a strong kiss against his collarbone. That spot!

Iker smiled against Cristiano’s skin, making a mental note of the sweet spot, and continued leaving trails of kisses all across the bronze skin of the Madeiran.

As soon as Iker had removed himself from his collarbone, Cristiano pulled at the object his fingers had brushed up against only a moment ago, eyes widening as he stared at his journal. _No, tell me he hasn’t…? Why would he…? No, this isn’t happening._

Iker continued kissing down his body, kissing every muscle of his abdomen one at a time, completely oblivious to Cristiano’s discovery.

Cristiano silently placed his journal back between Iker’s headboard and the mattress, fighting against the tears that had formed in his eyes. He could’ve sworn he heard the sound of another crack carving itself into his heart. Why did the men in his life have to be so deceptive?

* * *

_Oh my love, please hold me tightly in your arms_

_Please my love, tell me that you won’t ever let me go_

_If you release me from your grip tomorrow, though,_

_My dear, tell me, how would I ever know?_

_You constantly assure me that you love me_

_And you always whisper promises of forever_

_But, tell me my love, what is love without trust?_

_How can only love and love alone keep us together?_

 

_How can I be sure of this, with so much at stake?_

_A bond once so strong between the two of us, this trust_

_Helpless tears befall me as I watch it shatter and break._

_Trust and love should walk hand in hand_

 

_It’s true or should they not my, love?_

_Regardless of this infraction, I care too much for you_

_So please, disregard all of my doubts above._

_Disregard my future actions of doubt,_

_Please disregard my reservations. Please disregard my feelings on the matter. Disregard them as fabrics of your imagination. Just tell me what is love without trust. Just tell me what this, what we can become. Tell me, are we now passed praying for - finished...  Can we move beyond this or has the damage been done?_


	18. Twisted Perceptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _...it was Iker; he’d been covering for Cristiano when he was ‘ill’ and he was the only one who seemed to know what was going on with Cris. Maybe Cristiano had felt like suicide was the only way to get away from Iker? Perhaps that was why Iker never left Cristiano’s side after his suicide attempt, why he was so distraught over Cristiano being with Sergio, Cristiano drinking… He was afraid of his secret getting out in one of Cristiano’s belligerent rants, afraid of what Cristiano was doing right now._

The sun had started to set, painting the walls a light orange as the buzzing of the cicadas and chirping of the crickets alike broke through the otherwise silent air. That was enough to disturb him, though; Cristiano sat up in bed, silently muttering curses towards the sounds of the crickets, swearing to crush them all. He sighed as he realized that Iker was still snoozing, undisturbed, just beside him though the numbers on the bedside clocked indicated that it was still quite early to be catching Z’s. Deciding against waking the keeper, Cristiano slowly climbed out of the bed, slipping into a pair of basketball shorts as he did so, and tiptoed towards the door. Something, he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what, seemed to tug at his mind and forced him to turn back around to steal another glance of the sleeping number one. Iker look so peaceful, happy, and serene. He seemed to be without a care in the world, as if he was sleeping on some sort of fluffy cloud that was slowly taking him to paradise.

A small smile crept across Cristiano’s features then slowly faded as he recalled the last time he had been in this very room with Iker. It had been the same night Sergio had defiled him, the same night Iker had found him crumbled on the floor, the same night a little piece of him had died… He didn't want to remember that, though, that's not why the memory emerged from the depths of his mind. Cristiano made his way to the freezer and pulled out a quart of Rocky Road ice cream; Iker had been there for him and that was certainly worth remembering.

Sitting down at the dining room table, Cristiano peeled off the lid of the “career killer” and stabbed at the creamy delight with his spoon. He jumped as he heard a knock at the door, heart stopping as if he had just been caught grabbing fistfuls of a birthday cake that wasn’t his. Cristiano quickly made his way to the door, not wanting the mysterious guest to wake Iker. He was opening the door before he had realized he had forgotten to toss a shirt on. Oh well –

“Xabi? What are you doing here so…” Cristiano glanced back at the clock above the oven and snickered, “not so late?”

Xabi stepped back and studied the Portuguese man before inviting himself inside. “Do you ever wear a shirt?” The Basque laughed as he gave Cristiano a once, twice – and what the hell – thrice over. “That’s the second time in one day I’ve seen you shirtless, though I’m not saying you should stop flaunting all of that. I am proud of you though, for remembering to put on some pants this time. Where’s Iker?”

The forward made his way back over towards his ice cream and tossed his head in the general direction of the hallway. “He’s sleeping but he isn’t as modest as I am,” Cristiano chuckled out before helping himself to mouthful of the decadent sin.

The Basque sighed and walked into the kitchen and emerged back into the dining room with a

spoon in hand. Cristiano pulled a chair closer to him and pushed the quart of ice cream over to fill the table space between, “What’s on your mind?” the winger giggled as Xabi flopped down in the chair beside him.

“Iker told me not to hurt myself before I went off to training. Fucker jinxed me, I ended up breaking my damned foot just before quitting time. I need to kick his ass for that and for not calling me back.”

Cristiano looked under the table and caught sight of the wrapped up foot and grimaced. “Ouch! You are always getting hurt, Xabi. You're like made of glass or some shit. You’re poor, old, oh-so brittle bones...”

The Spaniard snickered and nodded, taking another bite of ice cream just before eyeing the hallway again. “Why the fuck is Iker sleeping so early, anyway? Is he depressed or something?”

“Nah, he’s just exhausted.” Cristiano replied quickly, blushing after he had realized his voiced fluctuated over the word ‘exhausted’.

Xabi gasped and then boisterously hooted, expertly reading between the lines. “Wow, Sergio in the morning and Iker in the evening! Oh show me your ways, oh alluring one! A fucking dick magnet you are, I better shield myself before I get caught up in the charm.” Xabi laughed himself to tears and slowly brought himself down as Cristiano had only offered a smile that was slowly disappearing from his face.

Cristiano sighed and looked down into the quart of ice cream, thinking that there wasn’t nearly enough in there to drown out his sorrows, his confusion. He stood up and made his way back into the kitchen, producing the half-a-bottle of Bacardi that he had stashed away from Iker’s prohibition out from under the sink. Fuck glasses, he thought as he twisted off the cap and threw the bottle back.

Sensing the sudden confusion and pain of the forward, Xabi had followed him into the kitchen and observed why Iker had been so worried about Cristiano. Deciding that Cristiano would drink less of the bottle if he had a few drinks, Lord knew he could use a few with his newest injury, Xabi pulled a glass down out of the cupboard. The shock in Cristiano’s features was obvious as the Basque simply held out his glass indicating that he wanted some of the rum. “So,” Xabi started as he watched the gold liquid fill his glass, “what’s wrong?”

Cristiano simply shook his head and placed the bottle back to his lips, letting the bitter taste of alcohol run down his throat and [hopefully] quash the pain that had started building in his chest. He could feel the tears streaming down his face but it wasn’t enough to stop him from emptying the bottle.

The midfielder’s eyes widened, impressed by the display as Cristiano had refrained from drinking up until only a few weeks ago. “That bad, huh? Want to talk about it with a neutral third party?” He didn’t like seeing the Portuguese man like this, crumbling in front of him.

Cristiano shrugged and looked around the kitchen, trying to remember where he had hidden that damned bottle of Jameson. “I just happen to attract selfish and dishonest people, I guess. There’s not much to say.”

“You know,” Xabi voiced, thoughts already a few steps ahead, “I didn’t even know that you were gay, Cristiano. Hell, I didn’t even know Sergio and Iker were gay either… Was there some sort of revolution or something, some movement I missed?” _Nah, I didn't miss anything. Imwas probably the pioneer of the revolution but no one knows you’re the first when you’re ‘the first’ in the closet._

Cristiano couldn’t help but chuckle at Xabi’s solemnity. “Maybe the ideology has changed, maybe people stopped feeling obligated to function in accordance with a certain label. In my opinion, for example, a gay man is just that: a man sexually attracted to another man.”

“What do you mean,” Xabi asked, slowly drawing out the winger, simply happy that the man had stopped drinking to talk.

“It’s my personal opinion, Xabi. You don’t have to act a certain way just because you’re attracted to men or women or non-binary people. I don’t need to act feminine in nature just because I have a preference to men… I’m a gay man. I am a man who happens to be sexually attracted to masculine features.”

The midfielder was baffled, “…but all of those women you…?”

“Amazed. Stunned. Shocked. Ruined for the entirety of their lives because they'll never find better…” Cristiano laughed out in self-amusement. “I had to prove to myself that I was gay, I didn’t want to accept it. It’s not that I had to figure it out - I mean, you either are or you aren’t and that’s all there is to it - but I didn’t want to be." Cristiano chuckled. "I tried to brainwash myself into thinking that I would wake up one day and find myself sexually attracted to women in the same way that I’m emotionally attracted to them...” Cristiano sighed as he found his Jameson, having forgotten why he had started looking for it in the first place, “It doesn’t work that way. It just took me a lot longer than most to accept that I’m a biromantic homosexual.”

Sensing his moment, Xabi chose his word carefully. “Is that why you’re having such a hard time now?”

“No,” Cristiano sighed out absently, “not at all. I just don’t feel as if there’s anyone I can trust, you know? I mean, they’re both giving me time to sort this shit out… Can you believe that I’m dating both of them? It just feels so wrong… I mean, I know it’s not a relationship with both of them, no boyfriend label, but it still seems like a bit much, you know.”

Xabi furrowed his brow but decided against interrupting.

“Selfish. They’re both selfish and untrustworthy.” Cristiano sighed out in finality as he made his way back to the table, placing the bottle of Jameson next to the quart of ice cream. He took another bite of ice cream and winced, “It’s official, chocolate ice cream and rum taste like shit together.”

The Basque smiled and made a mental note of Cristiano’s observation – no more ice cream for me then – and continued prodding the buzzed winger. “I think they’re trustworthy.” He spoke trying to get something, a reason why they were untrustworthy, from the Portuguese man. He wanted to help Cristiano and felt as if Iker and Sergio were too emotionally invested to truly support Cris in the way that he needed. “Some of the most trustworthy guys I know,” Xabi breathed out as he spoke of his two captains.

“Well, one of them didn’t rape you, did he? And the other didn't go behind your back and read your journal, did he?” Cristiano blurted out, the liquor already weighing against his mind, transferring him to next stage of drunkenness. “Maybe he hasn't read it fully but still...They’re not trustworthy, neither one of them, but I need them Xabi. Both of them. Maybe I’m the selfish one? I know I’m not really trustworthy either, I mean, Iker leaves me alone for one evening and I’m slitting my fucking wrists. Maybe I’m just receiving what I’ve been giving, reaping what I’ve sown.”

Xabi couldn’t pick his jaw up from the table, he was still too shocked to fully register what Cristiano had said. Either Iker or Sergio had raped him, had raped Cristiano? No, there was no way neither Iker nor Sergio were capable of doing such a thing. Then again, he had thought Cristiano was beyond suicide and something had to have driven him there, right? Was it the rape? Maybe it was Iker; he’d been covering for Cristiano when he was ‘ill’ and he was the only one who seemed to know what was going on with Cris. Maybe Cristiano had felt like suicide was the only way to get away from Iker? Perhaps that was why Iker never left Cristiano’s side after his suicide attempt, why he was so distraught over Cristiano being with Sergio, Cristiano drinking… He was afraid of his secret getting out in one of Cristiano’s belligerent rants, afraid of what Cristiano was doing right now. The sound of Cristiano’s phone buzzing sent a jolt of surprise through Xabi, forcing the Basque to snap his head over to where the vibrations of the device sent it spinning around in circles. Sergio’s name was lit up and he took that as his cue to leave.

“Cris,” Xabi spoke as he stood up from the table, tears threatening to fall from his face. I have to be neutral. I have to be neutral. I have to talk to Iker. Failing to find words outside of his thoughts, he pulled Cristiano into a tight embrace. “If you need anything, you better fucking call me. I mean it.”

Cristiano nodded against the shoulder of the Basque, trying to figure out what the hell had gotten the Spaniard so emotional. “I will Xabi. Be careful with that foot.”

“I will,” Xabi whispered back as he pulled out of the embrace. “You are a strong person, Cristiano, and I know that you’re going to figure all of this shit out. You deserve to have trust and respect in a relationship and I’m sure you will receive just that… One day. Don’t rush it.” Xabi left those as his last words as he turned and headed out the door.

As Cristiano heard the door close, he finally answered his phone. “Hello…?” He breathed into the mouthpiece, anxiety already settling in.

“You had sex with him, didn’t you?”

Sergio’s voice was calm though there was definitely an edge to it. Piece of Cristiano wished he had the resolve to hang up the phone, he was never comfortable trying to calm upset people, instead he gasped in what he knew would result to be a vain attempt at surprise. “Wh-what makes you say that?”

“I knew it, Cristiano,” Sergio breathed into the phone. “You poor thing, he manipulated you into bed with him using last night didn’t he? It’s alright, though, I’m not mad at you. I just can’t believe he’d exploit this situation like that. I mean, you’re going through so much. Where is he now?”

Cristiano glanced over his shoulder and down the empty hallway, “Sleeping.”

“Perfect. Look I was hoping we could hang out and watch a movie together. We could watch it over there, you know, avoid tension and what-not. Be there in twenty.”

Cristiano was listening to the dial tone before he had a chance to respond. 


	19. Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“My scars are my trophies, my mistakes are my lessons, and my flaws are beautiful, even if I'm still working on seeing some beauty within myself.”_

“So, how far along is she?” Fernando inquired of the obstetrician who was busy fiddling with the monitor and mumbling little numbers to herself. She had as of yet to turn the screen for them to see the baby but the Spaniard had already learned his lesson during their first ever sonogram; it was never in the best interest of anybody for him to trouble the doctor while she had an “advanced wand” shoved up his wife.

“Well, too far along for this to be of any use,” Doctor Yvetta chuckled as she pulled away from Olalla. “Sometimes, despite becoming impregnated, a woman will still menstruate. From the looks of it, you’re closer to three months than to five weeks. I’m going to go grab the ultrasound equipment from the hallway, I’ll be right back.”

Fernando’s jaw dropped as the door closed. Three months? “Wow, you look fit for being three months pregnant.” Maybe the baby was his after all, maybe the baby wasn’t John’s? Either way this baby would be raised as his – biologically speaking, though.

Olalla looked down at the sheets, reading Fernando as only she knew how. “I just wish I knew who the father is. It was easier when I thought…” he words broke as a single tear ran down her cheek.

“What, that John was the father?” Fernando grabbed his wife’s hand reassuringly, “Olalla, I’m the father of this child. Period.” As the freckled Spaniard reached up to wipe away the lone tear, a realization had dawned on him. Olalla had known how long he had been carrying on with Sergio, however, he had never thought to ask: “How long have you been cheating on me with John?”

Before the Galician woman could answer, Doctor Yvetta flung the door open as she dragged a central processing unit out from behind her, complete with display, and proceeded pushing it across the room. “There we go,” she sighed as she flipped all of the necessary switches either on or off. “Now this is going to be cold,” she warned as she pushed the hem of Olalla’s dress further up just before rubbing a clear gelatin within her palms.

Olalla drew in a sharp intake of air as the aspic was massaged over her stomach, exhaling as she adjusted to the temperature.

“Now, let’s take a look at you…” the doctor mumbled as she placed the transducer probe on the flat of Olalla’s belly.

Olalla smiled softly and turned to face the monitor. “This never gets any less exciting, does it?” She whispered, more to herself than anyone.

Fernando responded anyway, nodding as he whispered “No, it doesn’t”. The truth of the matter

was that it didn’t; he wasn’t even able to raise his voice any fuller even if he had wanted to as a little face had just appeared on the monitor and this…this was love at first sight. He watched, mesmerized as the little human rubbed at a sleepy eye. “I see you,” Fernando whispered as round eyes opened and closed.

“You are actually nearing your fourth month, I’d say twelfth week. See the development of the hands, arms, and legs here?” The doctor asked as she stilled the probe over the little wiggling fingers.

Fernando smiled as he watched the baby start kicking at the probe. “So, how’s everything looking?” Fernando asked as he watched the doctor suddenly freeze just over the baby’s beating heart.

The doctor didn’t acknowledge him, rather she moved along silently, humming and muttering as she made a few notes. After a few moments, she switched off the monitor and sighed, rubbing at her nasal cavity in search of clarity beyond her sinuses. “I usually don’t recommend it, definitely not this early, however you may want to consider further prenatal testing.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Olalla stuttered as Doctor Yvetta’s suddenly empathetic tone reached the ears of the Spanish couple. “Why would we need more prenatal tests?”

The doctor looked down at the pictures that the machine had just spit out and thumbed through them, picking out one to hand over to the couple. “Do you see the small, bright white spot in the middle of the heart there? That’s echogenic foci or calcium deposits amongst the heart muscle, I know it sounds bad but they actually can have no impact on your baby’s heart function or health. It’s what is often referred to as a ‘soft marker’…”

“What do you mean can?” Fernando asked, wondering why it was brought up if there was nothing to worry about. Doctors didn’t make you worry for no reason, especially not OB/GYN’s.

“These are considered to be soft markers for chromosome abnormalities, however, most of them disappear by your third trimester.” Doctor Yvetta did her best to emphasize the unlikelihood of there being an actual problem but she could see the panic in both of the Spaniard’s eyes.

Fernando’s mind drew a blank, however Olalla’s was racing, “Like Down Syndrome?”

The striker massaged at his temple, trying to digest everything he was being forced to take in.

“As I was just saying,” Doctor Yvetta continued, “you may want to consider further prenatal testing. I would suggest a CVS test, however, as you are at the twelve week mark you seem to be beyond its timeline so I would recommend having an amniocentesis done. Of course, it’s optional and there is very little chance of there being any abnormalities. The bottom line is that even with one of these markers, it is important to remember that most babies found to have one of these markers turn out to be perfectly healthy babies with no underlying chromosome abnormalities. This is just a screening and I can’t tell you whether or not there is a problem. You guys can take as long as you need to think about it and then call me as soon as you’ve decided and we’ll go from there.”

Just before Doctor Yvetta stood up to leave the couple, she scribbled something on the back of the picture inked with the baby’s heart. She smiled to herself as she tossed it in amongst the other pictures of the baby.

> _“Beauty is often defined within our flaws; the most beautiful of creatures possessing the most beautiful flaws.”_

* * *

Xabi was nervously pacing around his living room, trying to gather his thoughts when his phone rang. He answered the device quickly, hoping he’d silenced it in time or else he’d be dealing with a houseful of angry women. Forget Jon, the boy slept like a rock.

“Hello,” the Basque whispered, unsure of who he was speaking with. He glanced over his shoulder, noting the fact that he was still alone and that the house was still quiet.

“Hey, Xabi. I hadn’t intended on calling you so late. I was going to hold off but I thought, ‘What the hell? The man’s Spanish.’ I’m sure I could have waited for three in the morning and you’d still probably be awake.”

Xabi smiled at the sound of the voice – his voice. He could’ve called him at five in the morning and he would have answered. “Steven? I hadn’t expected you to call me back. Look, I meant everything that I said in that voicemail.”

“I know you did but you were right, when you took off. I had Alex and what we had been doing was wrong. What I had done to you was wrong and I’m the one who’s sorry Xabi. I just didn’t think that you’d…”

Xabi hurriedly checked his surroundings before he spoke, “You didn’t think I’d run off and marry a person I had never loved? I didn’t either, Steven and now I’m paying the price for it. I just never meant to do this to us. I’m just…”

“I know, Xabi,” Steven interrupted him. “We both messed up but there’s nothing either of us can do about it.”

Xabi sighed in defeat as he headed out towards the deck of his pool. “I know but I can see us happening all over again, I think. Only worse.”

“Worse? I don’t understand how something could go…”

Xabi thought for a moment and then started. “So Guy A and Guy B.”

“You’re not even going to give me names, are you? Cheeky prick.” Steven laughed into the phone. “Alright, Guy A and Guy B.”

“So Guy A is married and Guy B is not.”

“I’m assuming that I’m Guy A and you are Guy B?”

“Past tense but this isn’t about us,” Xabi whispered into the phone, regretting the sound of it but able to do nothing to disprove it. “Not anymore.”

“I’m assuming Guy A and Guy B hooked up, as well?” Steven replied into the phone, knowing it was more than that. It had always been more than that but he had always denied it. Fucking Guy A.

“Yes, only Guy A’s wife found out about it and Guy A blamed everything on Guy B.”

“Well, shit. Guy A needs to have his ass kicked then, doesn’t he?”

“He needed that from the start. Guy A had demeaned Guy B from the start. Anyways, now Guy A is going through a divorce and is crawling back to Guy B. But here’s the thing Guy B is going after another guy, we’ll call him Guy C. Are you following?”

“Yes, I think?” The Englishman hesitantly responded. “A wants B but now B wants C… This would be easier with names Xabi.”

“You’ve got it, what do you need names for?” Xabi laughed, “Anyways, I told Guy B to go after Guy C because Guy A is a douche…”

“Maybe Guy A is just a bit confused, Xabi. Give the man a break?”

“Steven, this isn’t about us.” Xabi nostalgically responded. “Well, it turns out that Guy D, a really great friend of Guy B and myself is in love with Guy C.”

“So. Fucking. Lost.”

“Damn it, Steven. Fernando and Sergio were hooking up over the past three years and now Fernando’s going through a divorce and wants to ‘commit’ to Sergio but now Sergio is trying to heat things up from a spark between himself and Cris but, wait, Iker is in love with Cristiano! Does that make sense to you?”

“Our…?” Steven asked choking on the name, “As in…?”

“Yes, our Fernando. Liverpool Fernando. Freckled faced Fernando. Torres.”

“Wow.”

“I know right.” Xabi breathed out, shaking his head. “I’m just so… and that’s even the half of it. There’s so much sh…”

“Wow.”

“Welcome to my world, Steven.”

“Wow.”

“Steven, what are you ‘wow’ing?”

“I never knew there were so many gay footballers.”

“Steven, be serious.”

“Okay, so you said there was more?”

Xabi breathed and started walking across his lawn, “Yeah, I spoke with Cris earlier tonight. He was a little tipsy and he told me something. Apparently, Iker and Sergio are both… Well, they’re both dating him.”

“What a player. I knew the man was a tool, I just…”

“It’s not even like that, Steven.” Xabi couldn’t even laugh given the context of the words that were about to come out of his mouth. “He’s confused and for good reason. He claims to have strong feelings for both of them but he can’t trust either one of them.”

“Trust can be rebuilt, Xabi. I mean, look at us, right?”

“I know, Steven.” Xabi sighed into the phone, “…but one of them raped him and now I think he’s with him for all of the wrong reasons.” Xabi strained his hearing in an attempt to pick up any noises coming from the other end. “Steven?” Nothing. “Steve…” There it was, sounds of gagging

and vomit hitting the bottom of some sort of container.

It took Steven a couple of minutes to regain his composure but as soon as he did he picked his phone back up. “Where is he? Right now? You need to make sure he stays away from whoever the hell did that to him. You hear me, Xabi?”

“You’re right,” Xabi responded as the notion hit him for the first time. He headed back to the house in full stride. He quickly pulled his keys off of their hook and headed to the door, deeming his pajamas as appropriate attire. “I’ll call you back later, Steven. I promise. I… I uh… Bye.”

* * *

Sergio and Cristiano’s movie had just ended when Xabi came bursting through Iker’s front door. Sergio had wrapped a protective, borderline possessive, arm over the Portuguese at the sound of the door opening but seemed to relax at the sight of the midfielder coming into the living room area.

“Sorry to interrupt but I need to talk to Cristiano.” Xabi answered before either of the two other men had a chance to ask. “About something we had been discussing earlier.”

Cristiano glanced over at the Basque and then back at Sergio as if he was seeking approval, or something of the sort, just before he stood up to follow the elder of the two Spaniards out of the room.

“What’s wrong?” Cristiano whispered as soon as they were enclosed within the confines of Iker’s office. He had only been able to recall half of their conversation when Xabi had left as it was. Sergio had brought over another bottle of Bourbon within their time apart and who was he to say ‘no’ to Bourbon? “Your foot. What happened to it?” Cristiano asked while pointing back down to the bandaged foot. “Shit looks painful.”

This conversation was definitely going to be, needs to be one sided, Xabi thought to himself. “It is. Look, I want you to stay the night over at my place, Cris. I just want to make sure that you’re going to be alright, you know?”

Cristiano childishly nodded without any rebuttle before heading back out to the living room with Xabi following closely behind. “Xabi and I are going to have a slumber party,” he drunkenly half shouted as he walked over to where Sergio was still sitting on the couch.

Xabi watched curiously as Sergio leaned in and whispered something quietly in Cristiano’s ears, something that turned Cristiano’s cheeks to a crimson red and had him nodding fervently. “I promise.” The only words Xabi could make out as they departed from Cristiano’s lips.

“Well, goodnight, Cris. Goodnight Xabi.” Sergio called out as he made his way to the door. “Remember what I told you, Cris!”

Cris nodded fervently as he subconsciously ran his thumb across one of his wrists.

Ignorant to all of the details, Xabi shuttered as he recalled the incident that had Cristiano in a hospital bed hooked up to every wire imaginable. He gently wrapped his hands around his friend’s wrists and turned the Portuguese winger’s palms up to where the scars were easily visible. Were these why Cris felt so guilty and obliged to Sergio? Because he was sorry.

“Repeat after me Cris:

> _“My scars are my trophies, my mistakes are my lessons, and my flaws are beautiful, even if I'm still working on seeing some beauty within myself.”_

 


	20. Parting Clouds

The sun had risen, bright and promising, shedding its light and warmth on all below by way of its outstretched rays, yet still it had as of yet to touch where he had needed to feel it the most. The morning’s clouds had parted with the stars ascent hours ago, fleeing to the east carrying the storms that had brewed within with them, yet still the rain still seemed to be falling upon him. The icy winds had died down to a low whisper and the leaves finally settled on the grounds before him but that was all that had settled…

_What do you want, Cris?_ The question had been hanging over him for most of the night and he still hadn’t come up with an answer for the Basque man. Unable to sleep, he had sought refuge in the gardens of the Spanish midfielder in the hopes that a little bird would fly up to him and sing all of the answers into his welcoming ear. Instead, Mother Nature had greeted him with threats of a deluge – how convenient – and the heavens opened up seeming to taunt him for being neither there nor in the very place below his feet. _What do you want, Cris?_ He didn’t want to be up there, not anymore at least. That wasn’t what he wanted. There were no answers for him up there, only judgment and damnation – possibly the forgiveness he never felt he had deserved. Down below, there was just more of what he was going through here: suffering, anguish, and torment. Or perhaps he was already in hell and that’s why he wasn’t able to ascend, why Iker had showed up to deny him of his efforts…

“Cris!”

The forward jumped as the sound of the Spaniard’s voice rang across the courtyard and throughout the garden. Birds scattered and flew out of their hiding places, some fleeing to the west and others parting to the east. Must be nice to just pick up and go when you please. Impulsive and irresponsible, yes, but nice nonetheless, he thought as the last of the birds fled from his vision.Turning to face the origin of the red-beard’s voice, Cristiano allowed a small smile to grace his features, catching sight of Xabi’s daughter Ane tugging at his training shirt.

“Xabi, good morning! I was just catching some fresh air!” Cristiano shouted back, extending his arms out and looking towards the heavens.

“More like catching a cold standing out there in this weather!” Xabi shouted as he limped towards the Portuguese, spare jacket in hand. He stopped mid-way and bent over to speak with his daughter, sending her inside to get ready for school, before taking those final few steps between himself and the winger to close the gap. “Jesus, how long have you been out here? You’re drenched.” He threw the jacket towards the forward and shook his head disapprovingly.

Cristiano chuckled as he plucked a berry from the Juniper tree just to the right of him, “It’s not so bad, Xabi.” He smiled mischievously as he tossed the bitter fruit at the browned head of the Spaniard who dodged it masterfully.

“You’ve gone mad, Cris. It’s nearly sixty degrees Fahrenheit. Now put the damn jacket on and come inside. Please.” Xabi’s teeth had already started to chatter against one another, the autumn season never was his time of the year. “I just don’t want you freezing to death, I would never hear the end of that.” He mirrored the Portuguese and pried a berry from the trees beside him, hitting the striker directly on the nose.

“Ass.” Cristiano chuckled as he forced his arms through the fitted sleeves of the hoodie and zipped the jacket up to his throat. “Better?” He asked as he started to slowly walk back towards the house with Xabi.

Xabi smiled but slowly allowed it to fade as he remembered why he had ‘kidnapped’ Cristiano from Iker’s the night before. Before he could speak, though, the Portuguese international started to sing (terribly). “I’m still alive but I’m barely breathing…! Xabi! Take it away!”

The midfielder winced as Cris’ voice sent every other bird that had remained in the trees bolting for safety. _Lucky fucking birds,_ Xabi laughed to himself. “No, Cris! Please, don’t. I swear, I will do anything…”

Cristiano laughed before planting his feet firmly to the ground, shouting from the top of his lungs with outstretched arms “Just praying to a god I don’t believe in!”

“You killed something. I know you did. Some poor innocent animal is dying on the ground somewhere because of you!” The Basque’s chuckles turned to a boisterous laugh as Nagore stuck her head out of the house threatening to dial 112 to spare whatever was dying out there. “Cris, your sweet torture is starting to make me lose faith, dear.” She laughed out to the approaching men. “How do you take your eggs?”

“Dear, we don’t want to encourage the man. Don’t feed him, let him starve for the sake of humanity and all other living things.”

Cristiano turned and punched the Spaniard in the arm before looking back towards Nagore and replying with an “Edible, thank you!”

Xabi jogged to catch up to the Portuguese man and playfully nudged him in the ribs when he was finally walking stride for stride beside him. “You’re making her pull out all the stops, huh?” The Spaniard glanced over at his teammate friend and gently placed a hand on his shoulder bringing the forward to a halt, motioning for Cristiano to sit beside him on the bench located on the pool deck. “Look I wanted to talk to you, about last night.”

Cristiano laughed as he looked into the almond eyes of the Spaniard. “I knew you kidnapped me. Did you toss me in a burlap sack and throw me into the trunk of your car? If you wanted me you just had to say…”

“You know what, that’s exactly what I did.” Xabi giggled as Cristiano furrowed his brows momentarily feigning belief. “I even gagged you with a pair of my dirty training socks and only untied you when you swore you’d talk dirty to me.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. I should probably warn Nagore of your kinky side, Xabi. It’s the decent thing to do…” Cristiano smiled softly towards the Spaniard, slowly recalling those words _‘What do you want, Cris?’_ Sure he didn’t really remember much before coming here but he did remember sitting at the edge of something hearing Xabi ask him those words, depriving him of any sleep that may have come. What had driven the Basque to ask him such a thing was still something that was beyond him; what’s worse is that he still didn’t have an answer for him. “So why did you kidnap me, Xabi?”

Xabi looked down at his hands, trying to figure out how to speak with Cristiano without offending him. “I was just worried. About you and your situation.”

“My situation?” Cristiano inquired of him, oblivious to the nature of any conversation prior to their final exchange of words. “What’s that supposed to mean, my situation? I’m not going to kill my…”

“No,” Xabi interrupted, gently pulling Cristiano’s wrists into his clutches. “I don’t think that you’re going to kill yourself, Cris. I just thought that you’d appreciate somebody to… Look, I’m worried about you and Iker.”

Cristiano furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what he could’ve said or done to concern the Spaniard about his relationship with the keeper. Hell, as far as he knew, Xabi just thought he and Iker were friends.

“Last night, when we were talking, you told me you couldn’t trust him. I think you even told me why…” Xabi glanced up into the dark eyes of the Portuguese international and smiled reassuringly. “You can trust me, you know. I promise, everything you tell me I will take to my grave.” He needs a friend, a true friend.

Cristiano gulped as he looked over his shoulder and through the open French doors, smiling briefly as he caught sight of Ane and Jon sitting at the table waiting to be served by their mother. They were beautiful together, Xabi’s family. He wanted that for himself, he always had. Sure, Nagore would probably be a man but that would be the only difference – a petty one at that. “I don’t want to be alone, Xabi.” Cristiano redirected his attention over towards the Basque and reiterated his confession. “You asked me what I wanted. That’s just it. I don’t want to be alone.”

“I understand that, Cris,” Xabi replied sincerely as he reached over and placed a comforting hand just over Cristiano’s, “but you can’t… Why are you with Iker?” A shudder. _Damn me._

Cristiano chuckled to himself as if the answer was obvious and Xabi was merely feigning ignorance – to them – and all that they were, all that they shared. Then again, how should he have known any better? “Iker is just… He was there for me when no one else was. I’d do anything he’d ask of me, no matter how crazy and out there his request may be…”

“Like pretending he never raped you, Cris? Don’t look at me like that, Cris. You told me you were raped last night. I’m not going to judge you, I swear. But this… this is NOT healthy.”

Cristiano froze, eyes staring straight back into the dark one’s of the Basque. “Wha-wha-what do you mean? Iker never…”

“Cristiano, I know this is hard but denying what happened won’t change anything.” Xabi whispered. “He did what he did and regardless of how you sugar coat it, beneath all of those pretenses and delusions you’re using to help yourself cope it’s still rape!”

“He loves me. I was there for him when he needed me. He trusted me enough to…” Cristiano spoke, drifting off to another world, trying his best to echo the confidence and sincerity Sergio had seemed to possess when he had convinced him that his intentions were anything but malicious. “I don’t think you under…”

“What’s there to understand, Cris?” Xabi whispered. “Iker hurt…”

“Not Iker.” Cristiano responded in flat anger. “Iker found me after he had raped me. Iker helped me through it. He listened to me…”

Xabi’s eyes widened as the facts dawned on him. “So if it wasn’t Iker, then... Sergio…?”

“Boys, time to eat!”

“Jesus, woman! We’re in the middle of an important…”

Cristiano quickly stood up and followed Nagore into the house. “Xabi, can we finish this…?”

“At training. Today. Come on, Cris...” The Spaniard begged. “You can hit the gym with me, I’m doing my rehabilitation in there and some low density stuff, and we can talk then?”

Cristiano nodded in defeat and pulled his phone off of the end table as he made his way through the living room. “Holy sh…” rounding the final corner of the bar that kept him out of the dining room, he stopped mid sentence as Jon and Ane looked over at him from the dining room table waiting for him to finish. “…shamrocks. I was going to say holy shamrocks, I swear.” One hundred four missed calls, seventy eight voicemails, and one hundred ninety-eight text messages all from a one Iker Casillas. “I presume you forgot to tell Iker that I was over here?”


	21. Hypocrite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Fix yourself before you try fixing Cristiano. Even then, Iker, give Cristiano room to fix himself before you come in._

Iker slammed the door of his club Audi shut, cursing as he ran towards the entrance of the Ciudad. An involuntary shudder emerged from his spine as fear coursed its way through his veins; he hadn’t returned to the training grounds, to his home away from home, since the night he had found Cristiano bleeding out beneath the showers of the locker room. No matter, in the event that Cristiano had returned here he’d need to be the one to prevent him from doing anything stupid.

“Iker! Glad to see you back, man!” Arbeloa called out from over his shoulder as the goalie forced his way through the glass doors. “I see you’re feeling quite stylish today, huh?”

The keeper gave his laughing Spanish compatriot a confused glance before quickly taking in his surroundings. “What are you talking about?” In truth, the sight of Arbeloa and Modric laughing in the hallway with Sami assured Iker that, had Cristiano come here, he’d of been spotted by now by one of their teammates. Releasing a small sigh of relief and giving himself an opportunity to catch his breath, he asked the right back exactly what he had meant.

“Oh, I was just talking about your shirt, it looks like something Cristiano would wear. Then again, with the amount of time you two have been spending together I suppose I shouldn’t be too shocked.”

Iker felt his face flush to a crimson red as he slowly looked down at the shirt he had carelessly picked up off the floor in his rush to the stadium. It was that damn pink D-Squared shirt of Cristiano’s, the one the forward had been wearing the day before. At least the jeans were his – _oh fuck me_ – those were Cristiano’s as well. Iker tried his best to brush it off as if it were nothing, making up some fib about a laundry mix up and him not checking before he threw on ‘his’ clothes for the day before inquiring whether or not Arbeloa had seen the Portuguese winger.

“You know what, I have. I actually got here about thirty minutes ago, left my phone out in my car, but I’m fairly certain I saw him head into the gym with Xabi. I’ll tell you, I was just as surprised to see him here as I was to see you but I’m glad you guys are back.” Alvaro offered Iker a warm smile before heading towards Modric and Sami down the hallway.

“Thanks,” Iker called after him, turning to head towards the facility’s gym. In his mind he'd exhausted every reason he could in trying to ascertain the reason for Cristiano being here with Xabi and he still came up blank. The least Cristiano could’ve done was return his phone call and he knew his phone was on… _Oh God, I sound like a controlling bitch. No, this is not good but still. I am his conservator, I have the right to know where he is._ Iker stopped himself just outside of the gym door, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to regain his composure. Listen, Iker. Don’t speak, listen.

“Iker! What are you doing here?”

Iker glared over at the Basque who was doing leg strengthening exercises while Cristiano kept up with his spinning. Iker bit his lip as he noticed Cristiano start pedaling faster, as if the spin bike would suddenly have another wheel and it would take him away from here. “Isn’t it obvious? I wake up in the morning to find Cristiano missing without as much as a note… I try calling and texting to no avail…!”

“Well, I’m here and I’m fine. You can go now.”

Iker threw his head back in admonishment. “I can go now? Well now that I have your permission Mr. Aveiro that makes me feel so much better.” Sarcasm had never been one of his strong suits but Cristiano just made him so… “You couldn’t even call me? You couldn’t pick up your fucking phone and say ‘Iker, I’m with Xabi. Don’t worry’? Was that too hard for you?”

“You see, Xabi? This is what I’m talking about, he’s so fucking controlling. I can barely function! Of course I didn’t want to call you because this is what I would be getting, only over the phone and I have enough of a headache as it is!”

“Were you drinking again?”

“Xabi!”

“Xabi!”

“Damn it! Iker, can I talk to you please? In private?”

Cristiano stood up from the bike (surprisingly, it still had the wheel on it though Iker and Xabi alike had supposed it would fly off at any given moment given that Cristiano had pedaled at an incredible pace during his exchange with the keeper) and stormed out of the room mumbling something about men being a ‘waste of time’ and that he wished he was ‘asexual’ so he ‘wouldn’t have to bother with this mess’.

Iker sighed as soon as the door closed behind Cristiano, throwing up his hands in exasperation as he turned his attention towards the defensive mifielder.

“Don’t pretend like your innocent, Iker.” Xabi chuckled in disbelief as Iker parted his lips in shock but continued anyway. “You convinced him to date both yourself and Sergio and then you slept with him.” The Basque sighed as Iker gave him a questioning glance. “I went by your house yesterday evening to talk to you but just found Cristiano devouring a quart of ice cream. I may have teased him a bit about banging Sergio in the morning and then you in the evening… It upset him so he decided to have a drink to calm himself.”

The elder Spaniard shook his head. “If that’s true then where did he get the alcohol from?”

“That’s just it, Iker. You’ve driven the man to hide it around the house. Loosen the reins a bit, not too much, just a bit. Have a drink with him, he’ll drink less that way but right now…? You’re driving him up the wall with that alone. Then you pull this shit with the whole ‘date both of us’? Come on, Iker. You’re better than that.”

“Am I Xabi? Am I better than that? I don’t know what to tell you, Xabi. I’m selfish and I’ll admit it. I would rather share Cristiano than not have him at all…”

“You would rather see him suffer than see him happy? You would rather see him destroy himself so that you could hold him one more day? Is that it, Iker?”

“Xabi, I…”

“No, Iker. You know he found his journal in your room last night? Yeah, he did, while you were going down on him… Ironic, huh? You marching in here, demanding answers and not trusting the ones that are being given… Fix yourself before you try fixing Cristiano. Even then, Iker, give Cristiano room to fix himself before you come in. I’m not saying I don’t support your relationship with him – who am I to say what you should and shouldn’t do? – but I am begging you to give the man room.”

Iker felt the emotions building up in his throat, forming something of a knot, and did his best to swallow them down but not before succumbing to his tears. The contents of his stomach, a banana as that’s all he had the time to shove down his throat before fleeing the house, turned as his mind raced with every possible outcome of the situation, not one of them offering any sort of relief. “I will, I promise. I just, I just need to talk to him. To try to make things right.”

Xabi nodded approvingly as Iker made his way towards the door.

“I thought I told you not to hurt yourself yesterday,” Iker chuckled out just before hurriedly closing the door behind him. The captain made his way down the corridor, searching for any trace of Cristiano, groaning as he caught sight of the man laughing with Sergio. “Cris, can I talk to you? That is of course, if it’s okay with the two of you?”

Sergio nodded, the grin still plastered across his face and dismissed himself but not before [not so discreetly] licking Cristiano’s face. “See you later, lickerface!” The Sevillan called out as he headed [presumably] towards the locker rooms.

Iker looked around, panic relieved only by the conclusion that no one other than himself had seen the action. He couldn’t have people around here thinking that Cristiano and Sergio were… Wait a minute, what was he doing. “Look, Cristiano, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“I shouldn’t have left without telling you and I should’ve called. So I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“No, that’s not what I’m apologizing for. I have the right to be concerned, especially given that you’ve… Never mind that, though, I’m sorry about having taken your journal. I didn’t read it, well, not beyond the first page at least… I shouldn’t have betrayed your trust like that and, to be honest, I should’ve never offered for you to date both Sergio and myself simultaneously either. It was selfish of me but I love you...” Iker couldn’t take it anymore: the fear, the relief, the remorse… He quickly closed the gap between them, damning anyone who may happen to see.

> _Here I am, standing before you, a hypocrite begging for forgiveness_
> 
> _Place your lips on mine, your hand upon my chest, and forgive me for my weakness._

It was the first time Cristiano had ever heard Iker mutter those three words to him, the first time he had closed his eyes to the intoxicating rhythm of them. It felt as if he was drowning in the euphoria of the moment, caught up in the ecstasy. Sure, the kissing was nice but hearing those words coming from Iker…?

> _I’ve heard your words, rest assured that they haven’t fallen in vain upon deaf ears_
> 
> _I pray you forget your pain and your sorrows alike, I pray you bury your fears._
> 
> _Confide in me your secrets, all that you are and all that you intend to be_
> 
> _Let me grasp you tightly within my arms, let me kiss and hold you for an eternity._

As Cristiano’s lips began to work against his, Iker felt a warmth spread across his chest. He knew that they were going to be alright. He knew that he was forgiven and that, though he would have to regain his trust, he was right where he should be. Negligently breaking the kiss and peering into the dark eyes of the forward, something dawned on Iker. How convenient for him to have told Cristiano those three words as the water seemed to start boiling around him so to speak. “I’m sorry, that was wrong of me. I should have waited for a better time to have told you. I know it seems as if I told you that to…”

> _Don’t you dare take it back, I will silence the retraction in the only way I know how_
> 
> _Those three words you have uttered, they are mine now, entwined with my heart as a vow_
> 
> _A promise of what we’re to become, a vow never to return to what we were,_
> 
> _I pray of you, don’t take that away from me along with all that it may infer._

Iker gladly returned the interruption, grateful that the Portuguese man hadn’t taken those words as a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card. Why couldn’t it always be like this, just the two of them?

“Whoa! Well if I knew that was what you meant by talking I would’ve wanted to talk to him first.”

Of course, there was Sergio. “So-sorry,” Iker panted out as Cristiano broke the kiss. “What’s up, Sergio? I thought you didn’t have to train for the week?”

Sergio chuckled and spared Cristiano an accusatory glance, “Swelling went down so I’m good to go. Anyways, the manager wants to speak to you.” Sergio pointed at Iker before redirecting his attention towards Cristiano. “Have fun?”

Iker groaned as he rolled his eyes and made his way to their manager’s office.

Cristiano longingly watched as Iker made his way down the corridor, a small smile ghosting his features as he did.

Sergio stared at Cristiano, studying every change in the Portuguese’s features. He knew that Cristiano had strong feelings for Iker and he was well aware of their reciprocation… No matter, he could work with that but there was something else that had been bothering him. “So, I was wondering… As I’m suspended for the next match no thanks to you, I was wondering if you wanted to head to London with me?”


	22. This... Love?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Or maybe I’m wrong [...] Maybe that’s what being ‘in love’ is all about. Spending your whole life with one person, finding new ways to impress them and show them you care. Going out of your way to show them exactly why they chose you and vice versa. Maybe it’s those fleeting moments of being and falling ‘in love’ that makes life worth living in contrast to a mutual acceptance of one another? Maybe when we find our one, the one we love, we’re supposed to go everyday searching for new ways to make them fall ‘in love’ with us all over again?_

The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the still air of the room entwining with the scent of lavender. Carlo had requested that the janitorial staff stop using flowery scents in his office but had be met with the response “Would you prefer the smell of your team’s sweat?” That had been the end of the conversation. In truth, Iker was grateful for the sarcasm of the staff as lavenders always seemed to remind him of home, of his mother (as they were her favorite flowers) and of simpler times when all of your difficult decisions were made for you.

Carlo poked his head out of his office door and beckoned Iker inside, indicating for the team captain to take a seat on the couch opposite of his office chair. “Iker, I feel like it’s been a while. I just wanted to check in with you. See how things are going for you. Are they well?”

Iker smiled as the Italian took a seat behind his own desk, forcing papers to the side so he could give Iker his undivided attention. “I think you mean Cris? He’s doing…”

“No, Iker.” Carlo interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. “We’ll get to Cristiano when we get there but I want to know how you are doing. You’ve given a lot up, put a lot on hold for one of your teammates. Let’s face the facts, you and Cristiano were never close so what you are doing for him is extraordinary and remarkable. You’ve put your life’s work on hold and I know that must be taking a toll on you so I ask again, how are you?”

Iker closed his eyes in deep thought and drew in a large intake of air. “I could be better? I mean, I miss it. I truly do but I don’t think Cristiano is ready for… Then again, he needs his space and so do I but I just… Maybe I’m scared. What if I’m not what I used to be?” In truth, he had been having nightmares lately, nightmares of conceding four plus goals, nightmares of Messi and Rooney attacking his net – only he wasn’t in it. There was nothing there, no one protecting it; his teammates were calling for him: Pepe, Ramos, Varane but he was too busy holding Cristiano. “I think I may be too distracted.”

“Of course you are.” Ancelotti seemed to be mocking him, as if he would be surprised if Iker thought otherwise. “That’s what training is for: regaining your form, your focus, your confidence. The sooner you start training, the sooner all of that will return to you.”

Iker nodded, unsure of what the Italian wanted him to say, unsure of what it was he was supposed to do or where he was supposed to go from here.

“So, how is Cristiano doing?”

The Spaniard chuckled and raised his eyebrows along with his arms in admitted defeat. “He’s improving, I guess. Wanting more space and more freedom.”

Carlo chuckled with him, unable to keep his amusement at bay. “Sounds like you’re raising a teenager, not looking after an adult. How about we work on something you’ll both be happy with? I have Cristiano set to return to training next week under the suggestion of Ms. Garza. She thinks it would be helpful to reintegrate him as he’s passionate about his job. How about you return tomorrow? Give him that space and time to himself, see how he does and then go from there?”

_Fix yourself before you try fixing Cristiano._ _Even then, Iker, give Cristiano room to fix himself before you come in._ “That works," he concluded as Xabi;s voice left him, "I’ll see you tomorrow on the pitch.”

* * *

 

Cristiano turned and peered over his shoulder, casting his eyes back down the hallway hoping to catch another glimpse of the keeper. He released a sigh of defeat as he realized that Iker had gone and that, eventually, he had to acknowledge Sergio. He redirected his attention back to the expectant gaze of the Sevillan, feigning confusion as he did so. “I’m sorry but did you say London? What’s in London?” His words were laced with doubt and, if Sergio had any difficulty in discerning the tone of his voice, his facial expressions were definitely conveying his reservations of the idea. Besides, there was no way Iker would ever approve – both as his conservator and his… other thing that they were.

> _"I shouldn’t have betrayed your trust like that and, to be honest, I should’ve never offered for you to date both Sergio and myself simultaneously either. It was selfish of me but I love you...”_

Sergio scratched nervously at the back of his neck and shifted all of his weight to one side of his body, not enjoying the scrutiny he was currently enduring. He had already prepared himself for all of this, it was just a matter of coming off as sincere and well-intended as he needed to be. “Well, we wouldn’t just be going to London. I called Jose. I mean, I remember how close you guys were, and he really wants to see you.” (…and I need to see Fernando – perfect?)

_Jose? Wants to see me…? But why would he want that when he surely has Fernando? Hmm..._

“He had heard about what had happened on the news and he’s extremely concerned about you so I figured you two can catch up for a bit. After we spend a bit in London, probably make a day of it, I was hoping we could head over to Manchester by way of the train that way you can catch up with a few of your former teammates at United. You know, kick back and relax with somebody other than Iker or myself. We can make a thing of it.” Sergio offered Cristiano the most genuine smile he could before adding that he didn’t have to decide now, that he could think about it before answering him. “I guess I’m just going to head back to training. You should join me, I’m sure all of the guys are dying to see you back out on the pitch, even if it is just for a few kicks of the ball.”

Cristiano thought about it for a bit. The truth of the matter was that he was beyond ready to get back into his routine but seeing all of his current teammates and knowing what he had put them through…? He wasn’t quite ready for the mental and emotional burden that all of that would surely instill within him. “No, I think I’m going to finish up with Xabi. Baby steps,” he offered while smiling up towards the Sevillan, stopping as he caught sight of those almond eyes.

> _He’s supportive: but pretty much all of my teammates are. I mean, I know it’s expected of him to choose me over Messi, he bleeds the white of Madrid, but it doesn’t take away the gratitude I feel for his persistence on the matter… Maybe it’s the small kisses he leaves on my neck? Maybe it’s the small touches and the smiles? Maybe it’s the way I could come home from a dinner with him and suddenly feel ~~secure~~ with the man in the mirror, the one hidden and locked away ~~behind this~~ ~~devilishly good looking mask of mine~~? Maybe it’s the way he’s always made me feel as if I can talk to him, without worrying about judgment? I don’t have to worry about what to say or how to say it, it’s as if he truly understands me…_

Cristiano shook away the thought of his journal entry, hoping that it would take with it his suddenly hitched breathing. Strange how those words had once applied to this man, how they still seemed to, yet now there was another person within his life who could now be painted from their context. “Uhm, I guess I’ll, uh, see you later?” He asked blushing while already turning to walk away from the younger man, expecting Sergio to shout either ‘sure’ or ‘yeah, I’ll text you to see what you’ve decided’. He jumped, startled as he felt the tattooed arms lace themselves around his waist. He could feel Sergio’s chin resting carelessly on his shoulder as he heard him whisper something inaudibly. Cristiano released an involuntary shutter at the sense of Sergio behind him. The last time Sergio was standing behind him things didn’t end up so well. He tried to shrug it off, shrug him off…

Sergio spoke up this time, repeating what he had whispered but not before leaving a light kiss on the neck of the winger. “I love you, you know that. Regardless of what you decide.”

> _What the fuck does he know about being in love, though? Come to think of it, what the fuck do I know? I spend my spare time at gyms and am in love with the sound of the ball hitting the back of a net […] I think I’d rather love somebody than be in love with them. I mean, if you can ‘fall in love with someone’ you can just as easily ‘fall out of love’ with them […] when you fall in love with a person, you’re tumbling further down with each idea and impression they give you of themselves. Then, one day they break the paradigm and all of that noise is dead and gone. Kind of like Sirens of Greek mythology […] Loving someone, though, that shit lasts a lifetime._
> 
> _Or maybe I’m wrong [...] Maybe that’s what being ‘in love’ is all about. Spending your whole life with one person, finding new ways to impress them and show them you care. Going out of your way to show them exactly why they chose you and vice versa. Maybe it’s those fleeting moments of being and falling ‘in love’ that makes life worth living in contrast to a mutual acceptance of one another? Maybe when we find our one, the one we love, we’re supposed to go everyday searching for new ways to make them fall ‘in love’ with us all over again? ...you can only be in love with someone you already love._

 …or maybe it was just as simple as his need to believe him to feel better, that he needed to believe that this was Sergio's way of trying to get him to fall in love with him. “I’ll go with you.”

 


	23. Air Pockets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As Cristiano looked down on him, he suddenly wasn't thinking about Fernando anymore. All he could think about was Cristiano. As Cristiano's lips crashed against his in a dominating manner, for the first time he didn't want nor did he need control. This, this was okay. In fact, this was perfect._

Cristiano had been staring out of the window for the past ten minutes, watching as the baggage handlers and pilots alike speculated about what the two of them were doing there, at the airport, together as they loaded their things on to the plane. Cris groaned, certain that if he had to wait on these people any longer that he’d probably explode. Both he and Sergio had readily agreed to take the private jet in an attempt to ignore the media and any paparazzi that may have been littering the airport that day, so now here they were, simply waiting for the crew to stop their gossiping and do their jobs – ironic. He had declined the presence of a personal flight attendant, opting for a bit of peace and quiet with no media leaks about whatever may happen to unfold on this little adventure of theirs, leaving the two of them alone for the duration of their two hour flight. He had brought along plenty of things to distract himself: his iPod, his iPad, a book, but nothing could seem to hold his attention for any time longer than a minute or two. His mind kept getting pulled back to this, him on a plane flying to London with Sergio. _Sergio_. Cristiano sighed warily, tired of waiting for the plane to take off, and spared Sergio a glance, amused to find the Sevillan vehemently tapping his fingers against his denim covered knee caps. The action in itself wasn’t amusing, however finding Sergio angry amongst teddy bears and pillows and everything stuffed in between seemed a bit ironic.

Sergio snapped his attention over towards the Portuguese man, startled by the sudden laughter, and allowed a small smile to grace his features. Cris’ laughter had always been contagious but it had been a while since he had been blessed enough to hear it. Regardless of how random it seemed for the winger to be laughing, Sergio would take it over the silence any day. Sergio’s breathing hitched as he found the eyes of the forward; he had forgotten this feeling: the warmth that fills your heart, the coolness of the air as it feels as if you are drawing it in for the first time, the clarity of his vision as if he had seen Cris for the first time. It had been so long since he had felt like this for anyone other than Fernando, so long in fact, that he had doubted he ever could feel this way again. Maybe if things had been different he and Cris…? Sergio swallowed hard as the pangs of his guilt began resurfacing. He had been trying his best to be rid of them, these stomach churning feelings, over the past few days leading up to their London/England trip and had nearly walked away successful until he saw Cris sitting there across from him – in unadulterated bliss and beauty. Sergio slowly rose to his feet and effortlessly moved across the small aisle to take a seat beside the forward, entranced by the sight of the older man. He quickly fastened his seatbelt as the sign [finally] flashed and gently placed his hand over Cristiano’s, squeezing it reassuringly as the plane lurched forward. “I’m glad you decided to come with me.”

Cristiano turned and softly smiled towards the Sevillan, searching for whatever it was he was supposed to say. “I hope it was the right choice.” The only words he could think of, the only thing he was feeling within that moment. Iker had taken the news well up until he asked who Cristiano had intended to go with because _“surely you’re not intending on going alone.”_ When Cristiano had given him Sergio’s name (in the place of what he could only assume Iker supposed to be Xabi’s name) Iker’s face had sunken a little. They ended up talking about it for hours, Iker voicing his concerns and worries – even passive-aggressively admitting that he was a bit jealous and wanted to go in the place of Sergio – before conceding but only after Cris promised to spend some time to himself. “It just doesn’t seem fair to Iker. We get to spend all of this time together while he’s sitting back home in Spain.”

Sergio nodded and guiltily averted his attention to his feet. He had spoken with Iker the night before and had found himself on the receiving end of several instructions and cautions. _‘Make sure he takes his Amitriptyline at twelve in the afternoon Madrid time’_. _‘I swear if you hurt him, I will fly to London and, that bridge be damned, you will be the only thing falling down’_. _‘Make sure he calls his mother on Sunday or she will worry’_. He had simply told Iker to take this opportunity to get back into form and assured him that he could use this time to finally relax a little. Sergio bit his lip as he shyly looked back up from his shoes and tried to catch the winger’s eye. “He’ll be okay. Ancelotti’s bringing him back into training so he’ll have that to occupy him for a bit. I think he’s even going to be on the bench Sunday.” Sergio smiled suggestively as Cristiano finally looked back at him.

The winger chuckled a bit and smiled sweetly as he found the Sevillan’s eyes, shaking his head in warning as a mother would to her misbehaving child. “You need to behave yourself, Sergio.” The admonition fell on deaf ears, though, as Sergio’s hot breath was soon ghosting across the side of his face bringing the small hairs on the back of his neck to a rise. “Sergio…?”

Sergio groaned as he pressed his forehead against the side of Cristiano’s neck. “Cristiano…? The lights already been turned off.” He glanced up at the Portuguese pleading for him oblige, however, he was met with raised eyebrows and a bemused expression. “Come on… No? Fine. What do you suppose we do for these next two hours then?” Sergio thoughtfully glanced around the cabin, searching for anything to help the time pass. He smiled as he caught sight of something brown and tasty. “Let’s play ten fingers? I spy, with my not so little eye, some bourbon hiding over there…”

Cristiano smiled and shook his head again. “Iker forbade me from drinking.” It was one of Iker’s terms and conditions of the trip as he didn’t want to hear of Cristiano doing anything reckless or stupid whilst in England. Cristiano had agreed simply to help ease the mind of the Spanish goalkeeper. “He told me not to drink while we’re in England and I promised him I wouldn’t. I gave him my word, Sergio. Sorry.”

“Iker forbade you?” Sergio taunted while throwing Cristiano a mischievous smile. “Come on, it won’t even be as bad because it’s just the two of us. Besides, we’re not in England and it’s not like we’re getting shit-faced. We’re in the air, Cris, or did he make rules for air travel as well? It’ll be fun Cristiano and it will help you relax a bit.” Sergio had already climbed out of his seat and was making his way towards the bourbon. “Nobody likes a tight… Well, I do but that’s not what I was talking…”

“Fine. I’ll play!” Cristiano laughingly conceded as he climbed out of his seat and made his way towards the back of the plane. “Just don’t,” he stopped as he found Sergio twisting the cap off of the top of the bourbon and wrapped his arms around the Sevillan from behind, “I don’t know. Don’t pour too much bourbon in mine, I guess.” He thoughtlessly kissed Sergio on the neck (which was odd as he hadn’t initiated any form of physical contact between the two of them since he had found out about the rape) and plopped down on the bed-like sofa, quickly getting comfortable on his side. “What are the rules as there’s only two of us?”

Sergio filled the glasses to the brim, ignoring the fact that they were on a plane – and Cristiano – and could encounter turbulence (or air pockets, for that matter) and made his way towards the back of the plane. He seductively licked his fingers as some of the brown liquid spilled over the side of one of the cups earning a small chuckle from Cris. Sergio joined him on the bed-like sofa, smiling as he handed over one of the glasses just before mirroring Cristiano by lying on his side. “How about, if you drink to something I’ve never done, you have to give the story behind your drinking and vice versa? If neither of us drink, we have to explain why we’re both such tight asses. How does that sound?”

Cristiano laughed breathily but found himself nodding in agreement. “You go first, Sergio. It was your idea.” He took a sip of his bourbon, sighing at the taste. He had been drinking discreetly [secretly] over the past couple of days out of respect for Iker, meaning he had about a sip every twelve hours. He had always detested alcohol, his father had fallen victim to its clutches and paid for it with his life. Somehow, though, somehow life had managed to convince him that it wasn’t the liquor’s fault but his own father’s fault. That his father had allowed it to control him in the same sense that he had allowed Sergio to control him but he had overcome his obstacle… Alcohol wasn’t shit in comparison to that. Or perhaps life had merely managed to make him a bit more anti socialistic. “Tell me something you have never done?”

Sergio agreed and threw his eyes towards the plane’s ceiling in thought, laughing to himself as one came to him. “Never have I ever slept with a hooker.”

Cristiano laughed boisterously before taking a huge gulp of his bourbon. “That was a low blow, Sergio. I’ve slept with a few but in my defense, I was going through a lot of sexual confusion at the time. It was a stage, come on. Don’t laugh at me. I thought I had been sleeping with the wrong women or that they hadn’t been experienced enough... I was wrong. There was nothing wrong with the women, well, there was everything wrong with the women but you know what I mean.” Cristiano blushed as he met the enticing smile of the Spaniard. It was hard for him not to kiss those lips and it wasn’t as if he had a reason to not to. “Uhm, my turn and I have nine fingers left. You fucker. Let’s see, never have I ever given a… you know.”

Sergio drew his eyebrows together and looked at the Portuguese in confusion. “No, I don’t… Wait. You’ve never given head?”

“Don’t say it like that, Sergio.” Cristiano was blushing profusely and could barely look at Sergio in the eye. “It sounds so degrading when you say it that way but no, no I haven’t. I’ve always been at the receiving end of them. Hell, I’ve never even eaten a woman out, I’ve never had the desire to. Seriously! Why do you keep laughing?” Cristiano could feel his face warming as he continued flushing yet he couldn't control his own laughter. “It’s just something I’ve never done.”

“I can change that, easily,” Sergio smirked as he gulped down a large amount of his bourbon. “Hell, I would be honored to fix that for you. In all fairness to me, though, you are the only person I’ve ever given a blow job to. Don’t look at me like that, I swear it’s true. The only oral Fernando and I ever did I was on the receiving end of so you should consider yourself lucky. Honestly, I’ve never had the desire to do so either, at least until…” The realization threw Sergio off as it was something he had never thought of – why had Cristiano always been so different? He shook off the thought and threw Cristiano a playful wink and gave him a light squeeze on the arm to try to cover up his moment of sentimentality before continuing. “Okay, so we’re both at nine? Shit… I’ve got one! Never have I ever bottomed.”

“You’re doing cheap ones, Sergio!” Cristiano complained before taking a swing of his liquor. “You know all of these so what fun is there in all of this?” He may have been protesting the current line of the Sevillan’s questioning but he couldn’t conceal the smile on his face. He was actually enjoying himself.

“I didn’t know about the hookers! I thought it was just a tabloid thing… Okay, so I may have known those two but I kind of like the stories behind them.” Sergio tried defensively. “I know it’s none of my business, but in the fun of the game how many?”

Cristiano looked up from his drink scandalized. “How many…? How many guys have I bottomed?” He laughed and looked up towards the ceiling in disbelief. “Are you serious, right now? Sergio! Just… Sergio.”

“You don’t have to answer…” Sergio sighed dismissing Cristiano from answering the question. “I just thought it would be…”

Cristiano laughed, cheeks blushing to a crimson red. “I just did. You’re the only guy I’ve ever bottomed. When Iker and I are together I’m always topping and…”

Sergio chuckled interrupting Cristiano mid-sentence. His voice was hushed to something just above a whisper as his mind was still lingering [guiltily] on Cristiano's confession of purity before him. “He has no idea what he’s missing by being down there.” In truth, Sergio’s thoughts were nowhere near the connotations of his words, they were actually dwelling on that day in the locker room but not. He saw Cristiano but he wasn’t standing underneath the scorching hot waters of the Ciudad’s showers. No, Cristiano was standing in a wheat field (as cliché as it seems) looking back at him as the sun beat down against his face. Cris had been wearing a white button down shirt but had stripped himself of it and was holding it tightly within his grasp, exposing an all-white undershirt beneath it. The 'wheat field Cristiano' held up the button up shirt, letting it ride and blow with the breeze, laughing as it threatened to escape his grasp. He extended his other arm towards the heavens and spun in his place amongst the wheat, stopping only as he recaptured the attention of the Spaniard. As the shirt unfurled, Sergio made out blotches of red, blotches of taint and flaw against the white fabric, yet Cristiano smiled still. The smile burned itself in Sergio’s mind as the older man let the shirt slip through his fingers, not even turning to watch as the shirt blew away effortlessly in the breeze, never once taking his sights off of the defender. “He is clueless about the quality of the attributes you possess within – inside of you. You are so damn strong...”

Cristiano wasn't in the same figurative mind set though. “Or maybe you have no idea of what you’re missing by being up there?” Cristiano countered, biting his full bottom lip and raising his eyebrows suggestively. “I mean, are you even gay or are you a faux gay just having sex with men to feel more empowered? Is the struggle for dominance a turn on or something?” Cristiano playfully poked Sergio in the side before teasing him a bit further. It was the first time since the rape that he had truly felt like himself around Sergio, the first time he felt comfortable in his own skin again. It was as if they were suddenly back on the plane again, flying into Madrid from Miami. “I mean, you’ve always topped and had never even had a dick inside of you until this happened – us? – so how do you even know if you like the feeling of... you know?” Cristiano cringed inwardly not liking how vulgar the last sentence sounded.

Sergio glanced over and peered deep into the smiling eyes of the forward, easily returning it just before childishly blowing a raspberry in his direction. There was something about that laugh, the one escaping from beyond the lips of the Portuguese within that very moment that took him back to an older time. It felt as if he was suddenly rolling around on the pitch with Cristiano, laughing hysterically as the turf stained the white tops of their training kits. He and Cristiano had been partnered up for stretches but they were too wrapped up in their fit of laughter, laughter brought on by an opposing players comment about Cristiano the day before. Sergio couldn’t remember what was said but he knew that Ballesteros had been the one to say it. He had laughed about it with Cristiano for ten minutes before being scolded by Pellegrini. He had been in love with Cristiano once, he had fallen in love with Cristiano then… Sergio thoughtlessly leaned forward and gently placed his lips against Cristiano’s, wondering if this kiss would have been returned then as it was being returned now. He couldn’t help but wonder if he had taken the risk then if he would’ve been met with this much passion in return. As they broke the kiss, Sergio found himself on the path to doing something he vowed he would never do, something he thought he never could do. He emptied his glass into his mouth and gulped down all of the brown liquor, emptying Cristiano’s in the same manner in spite of the protests of the other man. He pressed his finger to Cristiano's lips as other man went to inquire about what it was the Sevillan was doing. After placing the glasses in a safe place Sergio returned to the sofa-like bed, positioning himself much closer to Cristiano than he had been before. He pulled the winger in for a deep kiss and pulled Cristiano on top of him. “There’s only one way to find out if I’m a faux gay, I guess. Besides, if I have your virginity," he whispered, thinking of the night at the club rather than the red of the locker room, "it'd only be right for you to have mine.”

As Cristiano looked down on him, he suddenly wasn't thinking about Fernando anymore. All he could think about was Cristiano. As Cristiano's lips crashed against his in a dominating manner, for the first time he didn't want nor did he need control. This, this was okay. In fact, this was perfect.

Either their pilot had struck an air pocket without telling them or he was falling all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Helpful Excerpts** :
> 
> "Sergio stared up at the ceiling again, searching for the right answers, the ones holding the truth within them. “I was in love with Cris when we had gone to Salamar, I guess. I had practically fallen for him instantly. You know how he had said that he felt like he could 'laugh with me' forever? In retrospect, I realized that I had felt the same way towards him.”" - Break Me C. 18
> 
> "They were rolling around on the pitch, laughing hysterically staining streaks of green across the white of their shirts. They were supposed to be partnered up for stretches but Sergio had made a crack about a comment that had been made in a post-match conference the day before. He had forgotten what was said, both in the conference and by Sergio. It wasn’t important, though. That’s not why he had the memory, why it was locked up in his mind replaying over and over. No, it had very little to do with what they were doing and why they were doing it. It was there because it was the moment he recognized his love for Sergio." - Break Me C. 11


	24. Lie to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sergio looked away from Cristiano as the tears began to burn and as the salty water made its way down his cheeks. “You deserve somebody like Iker. Somebody who will kiss you every night with all of the compassion and care in the world. For fucks sake, you deserve to be held close and you need to be kept safe from… from people like me. I don’t deserve you, Cristiano, and I don’t deserve a second chance to be with you. You know what? Fuck it…” Sergio vowed that this, this would be his last lie to Cristiano and looked at winger in the eyes with all of the resolve in the universe. “I don’t love you.”_

They had ignored the dinging sound of the seatbelt advisory as it began to flash its red color about the cabin and they had completely missed the uttering of the pilot announcing that they would soon be descending on the dreary London town below. They were both still soaring high when the tires of the plane greeted the pavement of the runway and neither of the two were prepared nor were they willing to come back down quite yet. They listened quietly, humming small sounds of delight and satisfaction, as the pilot announced their arrival, their bodies still in a tangle of limbs. Neither of them were in a hurry to become decent before the door of the jet plane opened nor were they in a hurry to leave this moment in the past.

Sergio had been resting his head against the strong chest of the Portuguese winger, in a world of euphoria, listening as the forward’s heart rate descended from erratic to a slow, calming thump. He hadn’t intended for this to happen when he had first thought of going to England with Cristiano; they were just supposed to go to the Chelsea game in the next two days, get Fernando worked up a bit, and then head off to Manchester for Cristiano’s mandatory – as Iker explained it to be of the upmost importance – personal time. He had never intended on becoming ‘we’ with Cristiano but now that was all he could think of. All of the things they would do together, all of the memories they would make theirs in this country. After several moments of soft caresses and reassuring squeezes, Sergio decided that it would be best if the media had to go another day without knowing about them. He slowly removed his head from the strong chest of the Portuguese forward, lightly stroking the side of the winger’s abdomen as he did. The Sevillan pulled himself up and hovered over the beautiful facial features of the Portuguese, gently caressing the sharp cheekbones of the bronze man. He placed a short yet gentle kiss on the soft lips of the older man before affectionately smiling down on Cristiano. “Hey, you. We’re here.”

Cristiano returned the Sevillan’s smile and looked deep into the almond eyes of the Spaniard and found himself overwhelmed with the notion that he was falling. He had never been with Sergio in this manner, had never held him – so vulnerable and acquiescent – in his arms. Only yesterday he would’ve laughed emphatically at the prospect of something like this happening to him, to them, on this trip. As he redirected his attention out of the window and made out the London buildings in the place of the clouds, he sighed. “It seems we are.” In truth, he wasn’t ready to be ‘here’ yet, he still wanted to be there in that moment with Sergio. He still wanted to be a thousand miles in the air with him, where it was just the two of them – no one else, no problems, no worries, and no tough decisions – disconnected with the world beneath them. They weren’t up there any more, though. They had been grounded from their bliss, sent back down from their heaven, and reintegrated with reality. Cristiano released another sigh, this one in defeat. “We probably should be getting dressed, huh?”

The twinkle in Cristiano’s eyes and the sudden pull on his lips told Sergio that there were probably about a thousand other things going through the mind of the striker, a thousand other things he’d rather be doing with him, to him, than getting dressed. As much as Sergio shared the sentiment, he found himself nodding his head and negligently pulling away from the beautiful body of the Madeiran, biting his lip in an attempt to hold back the cries of pain and anguish that threatened to spill out of his mouth with the movement. “I think I just found another reason in favor of us just staying here on the plane. Fuck England.”

Cristiano chuckled as he expertly extracted himself from beneath the Spaniard. “Like you needed another one,” he joked as he rose to his feet. “Wait here, okay.” Cristiano found his boxer-briefs hanging on the corner of one of the wall mounted televisions and pulled them on, dressing himself as he found his clothes lying about the cabin. He collected Sergio’s things and lay them out on the edge of the bed, instructing Sergio to wait until he got back before attempting to get dressed. As he pressed towards the front of the plane, he respectfully asked that the pilot take his time getting to their allocated place, fabricating the lie that Sergio was still feeling a bit ill from the flight and needed time to collect himself. The pilot agreed with a smile and handed over some Motrin and Tylenol at Cristiano’s request.

Sergio smiled softly as Cristiano reemerged in the back of the plane with the drugs in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He wasn’t sure if he was still high on the sex or if it was a newfound appreciation for Cristiano but he felt a knot of emotion form in his throat. He quickly shook his head out of fear of becoming one of the ‘emotional after sex’ types and blinked hard in an attempt to clear the forming tears. I’m sure this happens to everyone after their first time, he hoped quietly to himself as he met Cristiano’s beaming eyes. “You know, I’m not used to this...” Sergio whispered as Cristiano handed over two of the Tylenol capsules and one of the Motrin tablets with the bottle of water, “though I certainly could.” Sergio popped the three pills in his mouth and swallowed them, nearly choking on their dryness before he took a large swing of water.

Cristiano grabbed Sergio’s legs and slowly pulled them over the side of the sofa like bed, pushing the Sevillan’s knees apart as he wedged himself between them. He leaned down, firmly holding the Spaniard’s face within the palms of his hands, and placed a fervent kiss on the Spaniard’s lips before falling to his knees. Before Sergio had the chance to ask what he was doing, Sergio’s nine fingers became ten again and Cristiano’s singular ‘Never Have I Ever’ confession became a thing of the past. After a few minutes (the action had taken Sergio by pleasant surprise and he hadn’t been prepared for Cristiano’s lips), Sergio’s pain had been replaced by pure pleasure and ecstasy and he found himself dressing in urgency as the plane’s door began to lower to the pavement of the runway. “Ay-ay, Cristiano. Do you want the media to find us out?”

Cristiano chuckled as he licked his lips and found his bags. “I guess now we just need to find you some hookers, huh?” Cristiano’s cheeky words earned him a hearty laugh and a light punch on the arm. He turned and met Sergio in a searing kiss that took his breath away and made him weak at the knees. The actions that proceeded the moment gave him unlimited confidence, however, and for the first time he fought Sergio for the dominance of the kiss. Part of him was waiting for Sergio to put him in his place, to remind him of who was what in this relationship – they weren’t in the clouds anymore. That moment never came though; the hand Sergio had placed on his arm never became authoritatively firm and the soft touches on his cheek never strayed to anything more than just that – soft. It was Sergio who yielded to him, it was Sergio who became malleable in his arms.

They broke the kiss when the pilot emerged from the cock pit and pretended to be looking at something funny on Sergio’s iPhone. Fortunately, the pilot didn’t seem to give a damn about what they had been doing and he simply asked them for their autographs before they disembarked from the plane. “My son is a huge fan,” he claimed as he handed over a Casillas jersey for the two of them to sign. Sergio watched Cristiano’s face fall as the Portuguese forward took the jersey from their pilot. “He’s a big fan of Iker’s, huh?” Cristiano muttered out, stumbling over a few of the words. “That’s fan-fantastic. He’s… What’s your son’s name? Paolo?” Cristiano scribbled a message to Paolo, thanking him for his support and sending his best wishes before handing the jersey over to Sergio.

Sergio smiled at Cristiano sympathetically before he redirected his attention to the message he was sending to Paolo. “Iker’s a fantastic keeper and an even better person, I hope he stays at the club for many more years.” Sergio handed the jersey back to the agreeing pilot before squeezing Cristiano’s shoulder. As the pilot stepped off of the plane, Sergio couldn’t suppress the guilty feeling that had suddenly possessed him for putting Cristiano in this situation. “I’ll make you a promise, Cristiano, if you make one for me.” His voice was hushed and there wasn’t much conviction in the words he was saying, though there was plenty of emotion behind them. “Promise me you will have fun here with me and that I will get to hear your laugh and see that goddamned smile of yours and I promise…” Sergio stopped to compose himself as the tears threatened to roll down his cheeks. The words were impossibly hard to say and far from what he wanted to say but they were the ones that he needed to say – for Cristiano. “I will leave you and Iker alone when we get back to Spain. I don’t want to make you suffer any more than I already have. You shouldn’t be torn between Iker and myself so I won’t make you choose.”

Cristiano shook his head and pulled Sergio in for a tight hug. “I promise I will, for you, but don’t make me any promises like that. Not yet.”

* * *

 

_ Knuckleball, top right corner of the net. Safe. Varane, header, direct center of goal. Safe. Direct strike, bottom left corner. Safe. Pepe, shit’s going clear over, stand your ground. Volley, aimed at the first post. Safe. Direct strike, hitting the top of the cross bar and going over. Oh shit, it deflected… Fuck me! _

The Spanish keeper sighed as he found himself staring up at the blue sky above him and pounded his fists into the earth. “Damn it!” Iker rolled off of the flat of his back and onto his stomach, carefully picking himself back up to his feet. He did his best to brush off all of the excessive grass and dirt that clung to his trainers and tried to wrap his mind around how Benzema had gotten on the other end of that crossbar deflection. He had been back in between the sticks for three days now and he still felt as if he couldn’t find his focus. Iker glared at the top crossbar, cursing it for betraying him, and prepared himself for the next onslaught of strikes that would be fired against him. He placed his feet lightly on the ground and bent his knees in anticipation.

“Iker, get out of there!”

Iker groaned as the sound of Ancelotti’s voice reached his ears and straightened his body. He threw his hands up towards the heavens in frustration and forcefully pulled his gloves off, cursing himself for not having stopped that last shot on goal. As he made his way over towards the older man, he did his best to explain himself. “I’m sorry, I just…” Iker held his hands up and ran them quickly through his hair. “I thought it would deflect up and over, not onto Benzema’s boot. Besides, he hasn’t even been…” Don’t you dare say it, Iker scolded himself. When did I start throwing people under the bus? “Sorry, I’ll stop it next time?”

“Sorry?” The Italian shouted as he shot Iker an astonished look, shaking his head in the process. “You’re sorry? You’ve only been back in training for three days and that’s the first ball you’ve let touch the back of your net. You look good in between those sticks, focused and intense. You need to take it easy, though: have some water, cool off, and then I want you to go for a run when you get back out here to heat up those muscles – don’t need you tearing anything. Alright?”

Iker forced himself to agree and jogged towards a group of the guys who were crowded around the water cooler. Xabi intercepted him on the way, limping out from the gym and onto the pitch for some stretching exercises. “Well, well, well. Look who it is. Glad to see you took my advice.” The keeper smilingly shook his head as the Basque squeezed his shoulder with partial affection and with partial animosity (the man had jinxed him). “Where is Cris at anyway? Back at the house enjoying a bit of solitary time? Hell, he’s probably stoked to be rid of you for a while so he’s probably throwing a party or something. Why the hell wasn’t I invited to it? The bastard.”

Iker shook his head, smiling at Xabi in amusement, and threw his gloves down on the bench. “Nope, no party. He isn’t even in country, he left this morning for England. He’s going to be there until Thursday.”

Xabi raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed by what he was hearing. “A week would do him good, give him a chance to clear his head and straighten a few things out. You could use a week to yourself too, you know.”

The keeper scoffed as he shook his head towards the midfielder. “That’s just what’s bothering me. He didn’t go to England by himself, though I did get him to promise to spend some time to himself but I’m not so sure if he’s going to keep it.” Iker sighed as he leaned down and pulled a bottle of water out of the ice. “He went with Sergio, they’ll be in London for a few days and then they’re heading up the Manchester.”

Xabi shook his head at the new information. “I was really hoping he’d gone alone besides, I thought Cristiano only liked Northern England.” He and Cristiano had talked for hours about Sergio and Xabi would’ve had to have been blind to have gone that whole time without noticing how much Cristiano cared about the Sevillan. Sure, Cristiano had told him the mind shuttering details about the rape but Xabi saw the look on his face when he talked about the time he and Sergio had first dined at Salamar. He saw the hurt in Cristiano’s eyes as he spoke of the day Sergio had told him about his betrayal but he saw the compassion when he spoke of the time he overheard Sergio and Fernando’s argument in Miami. Xabi could see the confusion in the younger man but he could see the strength of the love he possessed for Sergio and Iker alike. He knew that Cristiano was in love with only one of them but it hadn’t been his place to say… He saw himself in Cristiano and that scared the shit out of him because he had made the wrong choice. “I can call Steven and have him check in with them,” Xabi offered as he watched Iker becoming more and more frustrated with the bottle cap of his water, smiling at the sound of Steven’s name. “Liverpool’s playing Chelsea this weekend and you know Sergio and Cristiano aren’t going to miss that game. I sure as hell wouldn’t.”

Iker’s face quickly transformed from frustrated to mischievous and Xabi could think of nothing other than knocking that insufferable grin off of the keeper’s smug face. “You know, you never explained that to me, Xabi. The thing between you and Steven or the thing that was between you and Steven. You know my…” Iker trailed as the realization dawned on him. “Wait, they’re going to London? And they’re going to watch Chelsea play?”

Xabi raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes in curiosity. “Yeah, I mean, I’d go to the game if I was in London. Liverpool is playing after all.”

Iker bit his lip in anger and pulled at his hair. “Oh God, it makes so much sense, why the hell…? I mean, I understood Cristiano wanting to visit England because of his friends up at Manchester and just took going to London as a courtesy trip or something at first. I can’t believe Sergio would do something like this, it’s wrong and it’s low and… This wasn’t Cristiano’s idea, he said as much. It was Sergio’s and they’re going to London. I need to call him, I’m going…”

Xabi furrowed his brows together and looked at Iker as if he had suddenly sprouted six additional heads. “You aren’t making any sense, Iker. Calm down and tell me what the hell you’re rambling on about.”

Iker sighed in frustration and looked at Xabi as if he was an idiot. “Fernando’s in London. I can’t believe I couldn’t see it before. Sergio doesn’t give two shits about Cristiano, I knew there was something about him I didn’t trust. I knew it. He’s just trying to get Fernando jealous. That’s inconsiderate and childish. What, Xabi?”

The Basque man had started shaking his head in reprimand and was covering his eyes in disappointment. “Iker, you can’t just assume stuff like that and go around calling Cristiano and working him up just because you think Sergio’s intentions aren’t noble.”

* * *

 

Sergio watched as Cristiano quickly made himself at home in their suite, methodically removing his clothes from his suitcase and placing them in the drawers provided to them. As soon as he was finished with his own bag, he started on Sergio’s explaining that clothes needed air in a faux-feminine tone. Sergio had giggled at the impersonation before he slotted himself in behind Cristiano and affectionately wrapped his arms around the Portuguese. He felt Cristiano place a gentle hand on his arm, the one that stretched across the winger’s abdomen, and shuttered as Cristiano seductively whispered something about the London weather ‘doing things’ to him. “I could think of worse things than being locked up in a hotel room with you for days.”

As Cristiano put the last of Sergio’s things in the drawers, he sighed and leaned back into the Sevillan, exhausted from the flight and the events that had occurred within those two hours. His mind and his emotions were all over the place, he just needed to forget for a little while. “So, what’s in the plans for today?”

Sergio smilingly looked down and met the curious gaze of Cristiano. He could see the heaviness in the Portuguese man’s eyes and decided that they would miss their dinner reservations for the evening. “I didn’t schedule anything until tomorrow and even then, I made it flexible so we’d be able to relax and enjoy ourselves. You don’t seem to be up for much anyway.” Sergio brought Cristiano’s face to his and pressed his lips gently against those of the winger, running his thumb gently over Cristiano’s full bottom lip. “What do you suppose we do tonight?”

Cristiano pushed himself up off the floor and made his way over to the suites mini bar, pulling a bottle of vodka off of the shelf. “Let’s forget,” he suggested as he tossed the bottle to a bewildered Sergio. “My head hurts, my heart hurts…” Cristiano stopped mid-sentence as he pulled two glasses out of the cabinets, “and I’m tired of it.”

The Spaniard stood up from where he still sat on the floor and carried himself to the kitchen, placing the vodka on the counter as he situated himself behind Cristiano. He tugged at the shoulder of the older man until Cristiano turned around and pulled him in for a hug while resting his head on the broad shoulders of the forward. “I don’t want you to hurt, Cristiano, and I’m sorry I keep making you hurt.” Sergio pulled away from the embrace and looked down at the floor nervously as he fidgeted with his fingers. “Do you, uh, do you remember the first time we met? In the botanical gardens?” Sergio nervously laughed at himself as soon as the question reached his own ears. “What am I talking about? Of course you do.” He was nervous, he had never been nervous around anyone before, not even Fernando.

Cristiano smiled enough to where the crinkles took form around his eyes, though his eyes suggested that his mind was still heavy with thought, and wrapped his arms around Sergio. “I speak Spanish! Holy shit, I speak Spanish!” Cristiano laughed and looked deep into Sergio’s eyes. “How could I forget that day? You were so…”

“Idiotically in love?” Sergio laughed lightly, though the memory stung a bit. As he redirected his attention back on Cristiano, he easily made out the confusion in the features of the winger followed by the realization of what it was that Sergio had just said. Hell, Sergio hadn’t even realized what it was he had confessed to until after the fact. “I’ve always fallen in love so easily so, I guess, when I fell in love with a guy for the first time – when I fell in love with you that day – I thought if I ignored it then it would just go away and that I wouldn’t be gay anymore.” Cristiano was still looking at him as if he was seeing him for the first time but he continued anyway. “I didn’t want to be gay and I didn’t want to have to deal with the condescending stares… I loved you, though, Cristiano, I always have though it evolved into a quieter love over the years.” Sergio bit his lip and trained his eyes on the tile floor of the suite’s kitchen, trying to gather all of the strength and courage he could. “Whenever I had read that you had loved me for the first time, I hated myself for not having noticed it… because I don’t love you anymore.” And there it was. He didn’t know if it was a lie but he didn’t want to think about it because it needed to be said if it would keep Cristiano from hurting. “I don’t love you, Cristiano.”

Cristiano shook his head in disbelief and allowed his arms to fall lifelessly to his side. “I don’t believe you, Sergio.” His face fell, startled by what Sergio had just told him. He studied Sergio’s face quietly, searching for any form of uncertainty, any trace of doubt, and smiled. “No, you’re lying.” He had seen that look in Sergio’s eyes one too many times within the past few weeks, has heard that soft, persuasive tone in his whispers too many times to mistake it for anything else. He wasn’t foolish, he knew when somebody was trying to manipulate him into feeling certain things, to reacting in a certain way – he could read people, defenders particularly, like Green Eggs and Ham. Sergio was scared but felt guilt more than anything and Cristiano knew why. He knew why Sergio had done what he had done in the locker room – despite the lies and despite the constant ‘I did it because I trusted you’ – he had just been too weak to even try to rebuke it. He knew why he was in London right now with Sergio, he knew Sergio would be coming to London the day he heard him on the phone with Fernando and heard Mou in the background, but he wondered if Sergio knew the real reason why he was here…

Sergio defiantly looked up from the floor and did his best to look into Cristiano’s eyes. “If I loved you, Cristiano, do you think I would have raped you in the locker rooms that day? For fucks sake, Cristiano, I pinned you down and took your virginity after beating the shit out of you! I did want control over you, Cristiano. That’s all it was about. I saw you standing under the showers and I wanted to make you scream, that’s all it was about. I’m a sick fuck, Cristiano and you deserve better than that! I was hurting and I wanted to make you hurt! That’s it, Cristiano.” Sergio licked his lips and willed himself to continue, dared himself to admit to it all. “…and we’re in London because I was using you to get back at Fernando. We never broke up! The night before you and I hooked up after the bar? I had just gotten off the phone with Fernando and we’re here because I had heard Mourinho in the background when I had called him the next morning. That’s right, Cristiano! I was using you to get Fernando back! Nothing more!”

Cristiano stood a little taller and squared his shoulders as he looked long and hard into the eyes of the Sevillan, smile unwavering. Sergio had told him exactly what he expected to hear, what he felt to be true but what Cristiano saw as a fearful escape from – feeling. “You’re a fucking liar.” His voice was hushed but it was firm and Sergio was sure that the man standing in front of him was a completely different one than the one he had raped in the locker room. Cristiano took a well measured step towards him and he felt himself taking one of equal distance back, his throat was going dry as the atmosphere around them quickly changed from light and carefree to intense. Sergio felt a shiver creep down his spine as Cristiano took another step forward; his back was already against the refrigerator and there was nowhere for him to go. “You do love me, Sergio, and that scares the shit out of you.” There was twinkle in Cristiano’s eyes and Sergio hadn’t seen Cristiano with that much confidence and conviction since his free kick in the ICC Final against Chelsea. It was... exhilarating. “If you didn’t, you would have never admitted to raping me out of pure lust just now, you would’ve tried to keep the lie going. You think that’s new to me? I’m not stupid, Sergio. I know you didn’t rape me because you trusted me or any of that other bullshit you tried to sell me. Sure I had tried convincing myself of it at one time to help me sleep at night, but like I said, I’m not a fucking idiot. You couldn’t, though – keep lying to me – it started eating away at you, didn’t it?” Liza had told him once that this day would come, that one day Cristiano would be completely disaffected by the events of that day. Sure, he had laughed at her mockingly alongside Iker but here it was, that day didn’t have a hold on him anymore. Maybe it was Sergio’s submission on the plane that made him realize that Sergio no longer had a hold on him, perhaps it was England… Either way, he felt different, confident, like his old self…

Sergio swallowed down his own insecurity and straightened himself up, glaring down at that smug grin on Cristiano’s face. It had been a while since he’s seen this Cris: the Cris who had told him that life was shit, the Cris who had told him that nearly everything that happened was petty, the Cris he had first fallen in love with. “Then why are we in London, Cris? Tell me? You hate London, with a passion. Did I bring you here because I love you and want to spend some time with you? Is this my idea of a romantic getaway? No, I brought you here to…”

“Compare me with Fernando, didn’t you?” Cristiano was looking at him in an unreadable manner but the smile was still there. He must have found what he was looking for in Sergio’s eyes because he seemed to nod at Sergio in complete sympathy. “You can’t understand it, can you? Why you feel so different around me than you ever did with him. I wonder the same thing when I’m with Iker…” Cristiano’s voice trailed and his eyes fell to the floor.

Sergio went to shake his head no, thinking that he would do so adamantly. Instead, he found his eyebrows furrowing deep in thought, trying to figure out why he was in London with Cristiano.  _No, I’m here to try to get Fernando jealous,_ Sergio told himself. _Why am I trying to get Fernando jealous, though? Why am I going through all of this? I already have him, he said as much, despite everything…_ He had already talked to Fernando about Mou and he had already talked to him about Olalla and John. Both Fernando and Olalla agreed to raise the baby as a ‘couple’ but Olalla had made it clear that she didn’t want to stand in the way of Fernando’s true happiness and love _but is Fernando my the person I'm meant to love for the rest of my life?_

“He’s amazing, Iker, and I know he would never put me through half the shit you’ve put me through, half the shit Fernando’s put you through… I can trust him but you, you’re a bit more dangerous, more of a gamble.” Cristiano laughed as he looked back up into the eyes of the Sevillan, “You’ve always been that way, though – a little shit. I guess that’s why I fell in love with you so many years ago. Gambling’s always been a curse of mine – you know that, though.” Cristiano smiled lovingly as Sergio parted from his own thoughts. “I know why you’re telling me all of this, why you’re saying that you don’t love me anymore… You think it will make it easier on me but it won’t because I will always know that you stood right there and lied to me. You can abandon me here in London, right now, and do whatever it is you do when you’re with Fernando but it won’t change how sure I am of this. It won’t change what I saw and felt on the plane. Hell, it’ll probably convince me more of it.” Cristiano released a breathy chuckle and prayed that he was right. “You can’t stand to see me torn in the way that you and Iker have torn me… You love me but you’re scared and you feel as if Iker’s better for me than you could ever be. So you lie to me, try to remove yourself from the equation.” Cristiano found his way back into Sergio’s eyes and drilled his sights into them dangerously. “Let me tell you something though, Mr. Ramos. That choice is mine to make and mine alone. You and Iker have no right to dictate my life and make these decisions for me – directly or indirectly. You can walk out of that door right now but that won’t keep me from viewing you as an option, it won’t stop me from feeling what I felt a thousand miles in the air.”

All of the resolve Sergio had built up seemed to die within that instant. He felt himself melting in the eyes of the Portuguese becoming completely transparent before him. It was new for him, to feel so powerless in front of somebody. Sure, Fernando had a hold on him at one point but that was nothing, nothing in comparison to this. Cristiano wasn’t trying to control him, wasn’t trying to guilt him nor degrade him, wasn’t using him for anything. Cristiano was simply speaking to him from the heart, setting his boundaries, telling him to cease and desist with the mind games, and he had never felt so… vulnerable. Sergio shook his head and rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. “No, Cristiano. You’re supposed to hate me right now, you’re supposed to yell at me and scream at me from the top of your lungs... I just, I just want you to have some peace of mind and you can never have that, not with me in the picture. I did horrible unspeakable things to you, Cristiano. Iker, he loves you and I…”

“Say it,” Cristiano dared him, bringing his face within inches of the Sevillan’s. “Look into my eyes right now and tell me that you don’t love me. I swear, Sergio, if you do this… I will let you walk out of that door and I will accept it without any further protest. Hell, we’ll carry on in London and Manchester without flattering one another with all of the falsities if you tell me this right now. Do it, Sergio! Tell me that you don’t love me. Look me in the fucking eyes and tell me! DO IT, GODDAMNIT!”

Sergio clenched his fists as he trained his eyes on Cristiano’s strong jawline. He slowly dragged his eyes over to the other man’s lips, to his nose, and finally – his eyes. “I… Cristiano, I… I…” Just say it, Sergio. It’s easy enough. “Oh, fuck Cris… Fuck!” Sergio glared down at the floor and pulled at his hair in frustration. “I don’t, I don’t… Oh shit… I, uh,” the words were whispered but firm, “I don’t want to. I don’t want to because you deserve more than that, you deserve better than me…” Sergio looked away from Cristiano as the tears began to burn and as the salty water made its way down his cheeks. “You deserve somebody like Iker. Somebody who will kiss you every night with all of the compassion and care in the world. For fucks sake, you deserve to be held close and you need to be kept safe from… from people like me. I don’t deserve you, Cristiano, and I don’t deserve a second chance to be with you. You know what? Fuck it…” Sergio vowed that this, this would be his last lie to Cristiano and looked at winger in the eyes with all of the resolve in the universe. “I don’t love you.”


	25. Submersed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You don’t love me and…” Cristiano’s voice betrayed the strength of his will at that moment as it cracked against those four words. “Okay, maybe it’s not fine, it’s bullshit actually but I’m going to be fine because…”_

We were, or will all be, a skewed version of who we were meant to be – who we should be or are going to be – at some point in time within our lives but that time will pass as that once hazy image beneath the water’s surface will rise into the sharp reality, achieve precise definition before the eyes of anyone willing to bear witness. Things would not always be as indistinct as they may appear within the moment, clarity will always come eventually. Perhaps he was supposed to realize that this was just meant to be an unclear part of his life, an ink blot amongst a single chapter of many, and that soon he would be resurfacing to find his clarity. Right now though, within this very moment, his quest for clarity was drowning him – literally. Cristiano opened his eyes against the hydrogen and oxygen atoms and, at the site of him, decided that a watery grave at this point in time didn’t seem so bad.

Though the water emits clarity – washes away impurity and doubt – it will always distort the image of whatever may be lying beneath its surface. Such is life, no true clarity – just a shift in the perceptive angles. Sergio bit his lip as he glanced back down towards the man beautifully submersed in the bathtub; the little, tiny bubbles of air Cristiano had pulled down beneath the water’s surface with him were now clinging to the winger’s bronze skin, perfectly framing certain areas of his face. The water seemed to be doing it's job just fine because Sergio found himself unsure of who he was looking at. Was he looking at a friend? Was he looking at a lover? Was he looking at an acquaintance? He didn't know who the man was lying beneath the surface but he knew what he couldn't be to him. He watched as the forward opened his eyes and quickly found him with them, their owner seeming to be completely disaffected by the fact that Sergio was sitting atop the lid of the latrine looking down on him.

Cristiano eventually surfaced, asphyxiation wasn’t as easy as it seemed and it required a lot more resolve than he had within the moment. Perhaps speaking with the man sitting on the lid of the porcelain throne would help with that. “I’m going to assume that your reasons for intruding on my bath extend beyond anything sexual or perverse.” Cristiano sighed as he placed his arms atop the sides of the bathtub and pulled himself up to where he was now leaned comfortably against the foot of the tub. “There’s nothing to discuss if that’s why you’re in here. I told you that we’d still have fun on this trip regardless and we’re going to, Sergio. "You don’t love me and…” Cristiano’s voice betrayed the strength of his will at that moment as it cracked against those four words. “Okay, maybe it’s not fine, it’s bullshit actually but I’m going to be fine because…”

“Shit makes things grow, Cris.” Sergio whispered more to himself than to the winger. “Is that why you keep me around? To help you grow?” Sergio chuckled, more from nervousness than from having humored himself, but he saw Cristiano attempt to smile and that was all that mattered. “I just… you locked yourself in that room for hours and I was scared that I had… You know…? Again?” Sergio tried to wipe away his straying tears as quickly as he could but was too late as he had already been spotted. “I’m truly sorry that I keep hurting you like this, Cristiano.” Sergio did his best to regain his composure and straightened himself out a bit before he realized – who was he trying to impress? Cristiano knew him too well to care about how he looked within that moment; he had always accepted him wholly and had never fired any form of cynicism in the Sevillan’s direction in regards to his appearance… Sergio trailed off in thought for a bit before he snapped back to the present, where Cristiano was looking at him seemingly mystified. “I bet Iker took the news well.”

Cristiano scoffed and wiped away one of his own straying tears. The recognition of the salt water on his cheeks seemed to welcome a small river of tears and he ended up having a small emotional breakdown right then and there, in front of Sergio.

The Sevillan had no idea of what it was he was supposed to do to comfort Cristiano so he simply sat there, watching helplessly as the man he loved broke down before him over another. He had no idea what he had said to cause so much sudden distress to come upon Cristiano but whatever it was he quickly regretted it. He couldn’t reach out to the man and offer him a comforting squeeze on the arm nor could he wrap his arms protectively around the older man – his touch would surely betray him. He couldn’t lean over and whisper reassuring words into the ears of the beautiful man just feet away – his words would stray from his intent and he would surely find himself uttering the very truths he had denied only hours prior. He couldn’t simply wipe away those free falling tears of the other man – his hands would surely refuse and he’d soon find his lips against that bronzed skin. No, sitting here and watching him helplessly… doing nothing. That’s exactly how he intended to help Cristiano.

Cristiano eventually choked out the last of his sobs and stood up to remove himself from the bathtub, wrapping a towel around his waist as he did. He positioned himself in front of one of the bathroom’s sinks, simply shaking his head at Sergio before he peered back at the man in the mirror. He didn’t want to talk about Iker; he had tried calling the older Spaniard several times within the past several hours – in fact, he was sure Iker had over eighty missed calls – but he had only been acknowledged by the systematic greeting of Iker’s voicemail. Of course, he hadn’t left the man a message in the hopes that Iker would simply call him back and he could explain everything directly to him but he had been thoroughly disappointed when he had hit the two hour mark in his wait. It wasn’t that Cristiano was clingy or needy – though he could easily admit the he could be at times – it as just that he was so used to Iker being there.

“Cris, you know I’m here for you if you need to talk.” Sergio tried, though it sounded ridiculous coming out his mouth. Why on earth would Cristiano want to talk to him about what had transpired between them? The Sevillan sighed and mentally reprimanded himself, stupid, stupid, stupid. “I mean about anything. You know, friends?” _What the fuck? When did I become such an idiot?_ “I’ll just… You probably want to be left alone. Time to yourself and what not. I’ll just…”

“Stay.”

* * *

 

Iker glared at Xabi from across the Alonso’s dining room table, utilizing all of his strength and resolve to keep himself from pouncing on the Basque man. Xabi had taken his phone away from him as soon as Iker had punched in Cristiano’s number (with Iker fighting him tooth and nail claiming that he had to tell Cristiano that Sergio was simply using him to get Fernando back) and had vowed not to hand it back over until the older man had settled himself down a bit. The result? Three hours had passed and Iker was certain that he had heard his phone buzzing nonstop at one point in time in the evening yet Xabi remained unmoved. “Xabi, I’m not a child.”

“Then why are you sitting at our end of the table?”

Iker glanced over to where Jon was sitting, smiling smugly. The kid did have a point, he was sitting at their end of the table… “You know what, Jon? I have no idea why I’m sitting at your end of the table. Your father told me to sit here…”

“…because you’re acting like a jealous teenager, Iker.” Xabi sighed just before turning to his son, “Jon? Are you finished with your food? If you are, I’m sure you’re mother’s already making your bath upstairs. Iker and I need to talk for a bit okay?”

The little boy nodded and dismissed himself from the table but turned towards Iker as he passed the older man’s chair. “If daddy puts his hand on your shoulder and looks at you in the eyes, you have to nod your head or else he’ll send you to mommy.” He lowered his voice and looked over to where Xabi was studying his own plate. “You don’t want to have to deal with mommy.” Jon nodded his head in an assuring manner and went to give his father a kiss on the cheek just before exiting the room, leaving Iker in a fit of giggles.

“What did he tell you, Iker?” Xabi asked not even bothering to look up from his plate. “Last week he came home from school swearing that he saw one of his schoolmates go to the hospital because some girl in his class had cooties and the boy was bitten by them. I ended up calling the school and it turns out that he was stung by a bee – deathly allergic to them – and happened to have been being pushed by a girl on the swings when it had happened. Took us two days to get him in the same room as his little sister.” Xabi chuckled as he finally looked up from his plate. “So, are we calm and thinking clearly yet?”

Iker groaned and threw his napkin on his finished plate. “I’ve been calm and I’ve been thinking clearly, Xabi. Cristiano has the right to know.”

“The right to know what, Iker? Your assumptions?” Xabi scoffed as he finally pushed away his plate. “You’re not sure of what Sergio’s intentions are and if Cristiano asks you where this is coming from, you’d only sound like you're drowning in your jealousy and insecurities. Trust me, Iker - trust Cris. Give him time to himself and, if Sergio’s objectives aren’t pure, he’ll see it. He’s not stupid and he’s certainly not a child with flawed sense of perspective. Just let him be, Iker. Strawberry Rhubarb pie?”

* * *

 

Sergio stayed just as Cristiano had requested, though it proved to be quite painful. He wasn’t sure if it was that sullen look in the older man’s eyes or if it was the fact that Cris was dressed in only a towel with water droplets teasingly sneaking down his bronze torso – touching everywhere he wanted to touch him – but he could feel the tears starting to form as his heart twisted in anguish. He waited quietly as Cristiano brushed his teeth and watched longingly as the other man fixed his hair. “Did I say something else to upset you? It wasn’t my intent…”

Cristiano chuckled as he shoved the last pieces of his hair into place. “Honestly, I wish you would’ve faked it for a little while, pretended like you loved me while we were here. I mean, our first day in London and… That’s not it, though. I told you that I would accept it and we’d be okay and I meant it but… I tried calling Iker, to tell him everything you had told me. I wanted to hear that I was loved by someone. Hell, I needed to hear him say that he loved me.” Cristiano sniffled and decided to quickly wash his face before any tears could stain his cheeks. He patted himself dry with the hand towel and drew in a large breath of air. “I’ve never been good at rejection, you know. I never go after something unless I’m sure I can have it…”

“Cristiano, I came after you as did Iker. Not the other way around. This isn’t me rejecting you, this is me telling you that you’re too good for me…”

“…yet I’m not good enough for your love, is that it Sergio?” Cristiano scoffed as he turned to face the Sevillan, adjusting his towel as he leaned against sink. “Do I need to have a freckled face or is my hair too dark? I don’t understand it – like it’s anything new, I don’t understand myself a majority of the time – how can you love somebody who treats you like shit, Sergio? Tell me that.”

Sergio thought about answering his question but the look in Cristiano’s eyes told him that the question was a rhetorical one. He was nearly certain that Cristiano was referring to the relationship between Fernando and himself but…

“How can you love somebody, somebody who only hurts you, so damn much?”

Sergio closed his eyes recalling all of the things Fernando had done to him. He heard himself muttering all of the ‘I love you’’s that were never returned. He could feel that hurt from all of the phone calls that were never returned. He could hear all of the hateful things that had ever emerged from Fernando’s lips. - _“You’re right, Sergio. I’m glad you get it now. There is no ‘we’. That’s a relief. I feel better knowing there aren’t going to be anymore awkward interchanges using that goddamned “L” word.”_

> _“How horrible of a person am I? As horrible as they come. A person that deserves to die for betraying the trust of the only person who had ever cared about him.”_

“How can you love somebody who treats you more like an object than they do a human being? No matter how clear they make it you just… You just can’t help it.”

Sergio sniffled as the conversation refreshed his memory. - _“Oh, Sergio. Sergio. Sergio, there are some things you just can’t control. I mean, I do love you. I love you. I love pie. I love football.”_

> _“I saw you standing under the showers and I wanted to make you scream, that’s all it was about. I’m a sick fuck, Cristiano and you deserve better than that! I was hurting and I wanted to make you hurt! That’s it, Cristiano…and we’re in London because I was using you to get back at Fernando.”_

“You would do anything for them...”

The Sevillan smiled nostalgically as he thought back to the last time he was in London. - _“I made you breakfast in a pathetic and desperate attempt to make you miss home, Tortilla Española.”_

> _“If not, Chelsea may have to find a new number nine… I just want him to go back to being the Sergio we all know and love. The Sergio I love. The Sergio I’ve been falling in love with, over and over again, within these past four years. If that includes buying out a contract and forcing Florentino to take him as part of my new deal, so be it…”_

Sergio wasn’t sure of what was going on but he suddenly felt the soft lips of the Portuguese winger against his. His heart had leapt into his throat and his thoughts began to blur with one another, his throat was closing up but he could feel himself melting into the touch. He wanted to push Cristiano off of him but he wanted to pull the man into him more. He wanted to tell Cristiano ‘no’ and ‘I don’t love you’ but he wanted Cristiano to make him scream ‘yes’ and ‘I lied’ more. As Cristiano lifted him off the lid of the toilet and placed him onto the counter of the sink, Sergio began to understand the conversation, began to understand exactly what Cristiano was telling him. “Cris, I…”

Cristiano had moved down to the Sevillan’s neck but had detached himself at the first sounds of the protest. “I know you don’t, Sergio, and I will accept that. Right now, though, I guess I'm in denial or something because I... Just let, let me do what you cannot, Sergio? Let me make love to you but if, if you don't want this, just tell me."

He knew he should have said no but he had promised himself that he had lied to Cristiano for the last time. Within seconds, he found himself drowning, completely submersed within the moment, seemingly pulled under by Cristiano to where what was once blurry became fine again. If only for a little while.


	26. Phone Tag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Xabi? What the hell? You just called me, not even five minutes ago, and now you’re not even going to answer my call back. Oh no… Tell me you’re not drowning yourself in the toilet, Xabi. I mean, it was an awkward voicemail, I cannot deny that, but it wasn’t that bad. It was kind of cute, mate. Like something a scared schoolboy would leave for a… Oh shit. I’ve gotten distracted. Why did I…? Right! Don’t hate me but I think I’ve forgotten who Guy’s A, B, and D are. I remember who Guy C is because ‘C’ is the letter of his last name, right?”_

“Hey, Cris? It’s Iker. I was just returning your call, well, calls. Xabi took my phone and he wouldn’t… There are close to one hundred of them - one hundred! - and you didn't leave a single voicemail. I am really fucking worried about you Cristiano. Are you alright? Just give me a call back as soon as you can, please?”

* * *

 

_Two became one, two bodies, two minds_

_A passionate embrace, the future rewrites_

_Skin upon skin, heart pounding against heart_

_A lifetime of love is within his sights._

* * *

 

“Cris? I’ve called you at least twenty times by now. Maybe it was thirty times but who can really be sure? It’s been over an hour and I still haven’t heard back from you yet. I don’t know what’s going on over there but over ninety missed calls tells me that it can’t be good. Please, Cristiano, call me back. Let me know that you're alright over there.”

* * *

 

_No decision before him but a moment to seize_

_Leaves his choices in the future sands of time_

_Right now it’s him and him with no one else before him_

_You have time to spare, love has yet to make its final chime_

* * *

 

“At least your phone’s alive, the ringing is a good sign isn’t it? Cris, you just can’t call me that many times and then ignore me. Call me back, damn it! Seriously, I can’t take this shit and I keep thinking that you may be dead in a ditch somewhere. You didn’t go to East London, did you? I watch the news, Cris!”

* * *

 

_ You’ve fallen somewhere, into love’s great abyss _

_You haven’t looked up yet, to see where you are_

_Who has caught you and when was it you fell?_

_Who is it who has you soaring among the stars?_

* * *

“Cris. What is this? What are you doing? Is this some sort of sick way of paying me back for not having answered my phone yesterday? It’s not cool, man, and I’m worried sick. If you don’t call me back soon I swear I’ll have the London Police out searching for you within the next hour. I’ll send them to that Hackney place first… Just call me back please.”

* * *

 

_Open your eyes now, is he who you’ve envisioned?_

_Is he the one who holds your beating heart within his palm?_

_Is he the one that it’s beating for or is it another?_

_Is he the target of your hearts sweet psalm?_

* * *

 

“I swear to you, Cris, I’m going to get Xabi for this if it’s the last thing I do. I wanted to call you yesterday, I did, but he called me a teenager and told me I was overreacting about some things… He took my phone from me and that’s why I didn’t answer you. I swear I wanted to talk to you, I really did. Do you even know anyone in East London? At least text me and tell me that you aren’t in East London.”

* * *

 

Sergio leisurely ran the palm of his free hand across the sweaty chest of the Portuguese forward, allowing it to rise and fall, rise and fall with each heavy breath of the other man as he traced the outlines of Cristiano’s pectorals and collarbones. His other hand was caught up in Cristiano’s gelled hair, fingers busily wrapping and entwining themselves within the black locks of the winger as his mind tried to catch up with the rest of his body. He had been lying there in a tangle of limbs with the other man for the past half hour and had no intention of stirring from his position of security – something about it all seemed so natural. Sergio slowly turned his head, brushing his nose across the top two abdominal muscles on Cristiano’s stomach, and allowed his gaze to fall deep into Cristiano’s eyes. His voice wasn’t above a whisper when he spoke, the uncertainty and fear held within their context made all the more evident. “What are we doing, Cris?”

* * *

 

“Hey, Steven? Steven’s voicemail. It’s Xabi. Look Guy B and Guy C are in London together and Guy D is completely tripped up about it. He thinks that Guy B is just using Guy C in an attempt to get Guy A back and he’s pretty worried that Guy B is going to hurt Guy C in the process. Guy B and Guy C are going to the Chelsea home match tomorrow and I was hoping you could check in on them for me? As favor? Look I wanted to talk to you a little bit more… you know, catch up on things? I mean, if you want… God I suck at this shit. Just let me know about… Okay, bye.”

* * *

 

Cristiano peered back into Sergio’s caramel eyes, trying to figure out what it was he was looking at. He thought he had sensed love in them but Sergio had already denied anything of the sort multiple times, though the way Sergio had readily given himself to him only moments before, the way he had moaned Cristiano’s name as he dug his nails into his back, and the passion contained within those fiery collisions of their lips had suggested anything but. Cristiano sighed helplessly and shrugged just before he reached down and cupped Sergio’s face within his hands. He softly smiled as he brought the man’s face to his, Sergio’s lips to his, his chest against his… Their hearts pounded together, within that moment beating as one. “I have no fucking clue.” Cristiano whispered before closing the small space between them.

* * *

 

“Xabi? What the hell? You just called me, not even five minutes ago, and now you’re not even going to answer my call back. Oh no… Tell me you’re not drowning yourself in the toilet, Xabi. I mean, it was an awkward voicemail, I cannot deny that, but it wasn’t that bad. It was kind of cute, mate. Like something a scared schoolboy would leave for a… Oh shit. I’ve gotten distracted. Why did I…? Right! Don’t hate me but I think I’ve forgotten who Guy’s A, B, and D are. I remember who Guy C is because ‘C’ is the letter of his last name, right?”

* * *

 

After several minutes of soft, exploratory touches Sergio decided that he couldn’t take it anymore; his head hurt and his heart had been made heavy, ridden by the guilt of his lie – his last lie. It had been less than twelve hours and he’d already forced himself to swallow the declarations of his true feelings – his confessions of love – multiple times, choking on their purity as he reburied them within the depths of his [self deemed] treacherous soul. “I’m sorry. Cris,” Sergio’s voice broke as the tears began to well up into his eyes and as the excess emotion formed something of a knot in his throat, “I don’t… I don’t think this can work.”

* * *

 

“Hey, Sergio. It’s Fernando. Look I just received a call from Iker, he seems pretty concerned about Cristiano. He told me that you guys are in London - together? What the hell? I thought... You know what, whatever. I'm just wondering why you didn’t call me and tell me that you were coming here, Sergio? We could have done lunch… or something even better. Give me a call as soon as you get this and we can schedule something.”

* * *

 

Cristiano blinked rapidly as Sergio tried to quickly pulled himself off of him but caught the Sevillan by the forearm before the other man could create distance between them. “What do you mean, you don’t think this can work, Sergio?” Cristiano was beyond confused and found himself wondering where this sudden outburst was coming from. He tugged on Sergio's arm and brought the man back down on top of him. “I'm not trying to create something here, Sergio. I swear that it's not my intent. I just need to be held for a little bit, you know, comfort? It's the opposite of what you usually do so I understand if you're a little confused." Cristiano chuckled to himself as Sergio smiled ashamedly. "You know I'm playing, Sergio. Look, just because you don't love me in that way doesn't mean that you don't love me [period], Sergio. You do, otherwise you would've never done this for me." Cristiano found Sergio's lips and kissed them with all of the desperation he had felt whilst calling Iker. After several moments of entangled tongues he negligently broke the kiss, whispering his final plea into the waiting ear of the younger man. "I'm just asking you to stay here with me a little longer and then I swear, we can go to the Elizabeth Tower or some shit and hang out like the 'friends' we are."

* * *

 

“Xabi, Steven again. Ignore my last voicemail because I think that I remember it all now. I’m Guy A and you’re Guy B, Cristiano is Guy C and… well, who’s Guy D and why are you in London with Cristiano? Oh wait a minute… Guy B using Guy C to get Guy A back? Xabi, I thought you had said… Are you trying to get me jealous or something, Xabi? Wait, that's what Guy D thinks and how does he know about us. You know what? I refuse to have this conversation with you over your voicemail. Call me please, we’ll do lunch and talk this out. Alright?”

* * *

 

He felt like he was being suffocated by Cristiano's lips, the kiss taking more and more of his breath away with each fleeting second. but he welcomed asphyxia with open arms. He could feel himself falling but he heard his own voice - the sound of his most treacherous lie - echoing through his mind, reminding him that the crash would come very soon, the pain and anguish not far behind it. Sergio closed his eyes tightly and successfully willed his innermost thoughts to throw themselves off a cliff so he could enjoy this, this moment of pure ecstasy and... love. His words may have been misleading but his actions, he worried, were nothing but honest.

* * *

 

“Xabi, its Iker. I just talked to Fernando and he had no idea that Sergio was even in London. I don't know if...? Look, I just wanted to thank you. I guess you were right and I was reacting hastily; it was wrong of me to jump to those conclusions. Don't worry, I didn't attack him or anything; I just asked him if he had heard from either Sergio or Cristiano because Cristiano isn't returning any of my calls. I told him that they were in London and he sounded... well, he was shocked. So, thank you.”

* * *

 

For the third time within the early, English morning hours, Sergio lay in Cristiano's arms absolutely spent - emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and physically. He was biting his tongue, literally, to keep himself from crying and pouring out his soul to the man just beside him. It wouldn't be fair to Cristiano if he did, he thought. So he just laid there, wallowing in his self misery and silently listened as Cristiano released a groan of dissatisfaction. "I swear, these damned phones keep going... Oh. Here, it's yours Sergio. You might want to take this." Cristiano's smile was small, hurt even, but it was genuine.

Sergio slowly took his phone from Cristiano and unhurriedly glanced down at the name flashing on the screen. For the first time in his life, he had to think about whether or not he wanted to take this call, the call from him. He shifted his attention back on Cristiano searching for a sign - any sort of indication - that may tell him what it is that he was supposed to do. Do this, for Cris, for Iker. Do this, Sergio. Don't fuck up again, don't hurt this man again. Sergio negligently pounded the green accept button and released a sigh of defeat into the phone as soon as he heard the other man’s voice coming in from the other line. “Fernando?”

 


	27. This Is What You Wanted, Isn't It?

> Cristiano sighed in frustration as Sergio, once again, attempted to extract himself from his clutches; an attempt was as far as Sergio’s efforts took him as Cristiano tightened his grip around the Sevillan at the first sign of resistance. “You can talk right here.” Cristiano whispered down to the younger man with a smile. He and Sergio were ‘just friends’ but ‘just friends’ could always hold each other, right? It was masculine, enough…

Fernando found himself smiling nervously as Sergio’s voice tunneled through the phone but inwardly groaned as he heard Cristiano muttering something in the background. “Sergio. Hey, did you get my voicemail?” Fernando nervously ran his fingers through his short, brunette locks and continued pacing uneasily in his kitchen. He wasn’t sure of what he wanted to say to Sergio but as soon as Iker told him that the Sevillan was in England he knew he had to find out why. “I heard that you were in London.” He had to figure out what the other man was doing here and he needed to know why he was here with…

> Cristiano wasn’t sure of what he was doing but he was fairly certain that he was doing that stupid thing that Iker had been so worried about him doing. Iker had told him to enjoy himself, though, and how could he if he let things get awkward between himself and Sergio after their first day in London. That’s all this is, Cristiano heard himself saying, just some fun between two friends. Nothing else. He directed his attention towards the ceiling and began to absently run his fingers through Sergio’s thick, brown hair.

“I am.” Sergio’s voice softly came through the other end of phone and reached Fernando’s ear barely above a whisper just before he released a moan of contentment. He didn’t want to have this conversation, especially not now as he was still lying on top of Cristiano who was still clinging tightly to him. “Who, uh, how did you know that I was here, in London?” He wasn’t surprised when Cristiano had furrowed his brows together at the sound of the question. No more lies, he told himself before mouthing “I’ll explain later” towards the Portuguese winger as Cristiano redirected his attention onto him. “I didn’t think that anybody here knew that we were here.”

“Oh,” Fernando chuckled nervously just before he bit his lip, “I received a phone call from Iker. He was worried about Cristiano, I guess. Said that he wasn’t returning his… Hey! Why are you in London…?” Fernando could already feel the burning sensation of the tears welling up in his eyes. “…with Cristiano? Are you two together?” Fernando nearly choked on the word as it left a bitter taste in his mouth. “You know, you and…?” He couldn’t even say his name, he couldn’t bring them together in a sentence to form that sort of implication.

> _You don’t love him, Cristiano. Why would you? The man raped you and used you. You said it yourself, a man who hurts you that much could never have loved you. But maybe if you hadn’t of loved him then it wouldn’t of hurt you as much? It doesn’t matter anyway. He admitted that he didn’t love you so just quit. Sergio is just a friend and you have Iker…_

“Iker called you?” Sergio asked, cleverly ignoring the question as he met Cristiano’s questioning look, shrugging his shoulders in equaled bewilderment. “I don’t understand why he would call you if Cristiano wasn’t…” Sergio stopped as Cristiano raised his eyebrows in realization and as a look of understanding graced the features of the winger, the look that reminded Sergio of what he had told Cristiano about their London presence. “Right,” he whispered, eyes still peering deep within Cristiano’s soft, forlorn ones. " Call Iker,” he mouthed authoritatively towards the forward before turning his attention back onto the phone conversation. “I don’t, I don’t understand why you’re calling Fernando.”

“Look, Sergio,” Fernando muttered into the phone as Olalla came bursting into the house, “I don’t know what’s going on with you and… but it’s kind of hurtful that you came to London and didn’t even tell me. How long are you going to be here?” He quickly turned away from the phone and planted an affectionate kiss on Olalla’s cheek, nodding as she asked him if he was on the phone with Sergio. “I mean, we can meet up and do something. Are you, are you going to the game tomorrow?”

Sergio dropped his head onto Cristiano’s chest and sighed against it, completely fed up with the emotional rollercoaster he had been riding on since he and Cristiano had flown out of Spain. “We had planned on it.” He reached over and pulled Cristiano’s phone off of the end table, releasing a surprised gasp at the number of missed calls just before he handed it over to Cristiano.

> _Iker cares_ , Cristiano assured himself as he checked his messages, listening to the worry in the older man’s voice. _Iker was worried and Iker_ … Cristiano stopped mid thought and listened to every message within his inbox for a second time, and then a third and fourth time. He had just needed to hear it, he wanted to hear that somebody had… _Iker didn’t tell me that he loved me. He probably just forgot to say it and I’m making a big deal out of nothing. He doesn’t know about what happened here and he doesn’t know that Sergio doesn’t… but he told me that he loved me before I left. Did he change his mind? No, I’m making a big deal out of nothing_ (it’s something). _It’s petty and insignificant_ (I needed to hear it). _I’m just being needy_ (I needed to hear him tell me that he loved me). _It’s no big deal_ (Iker doesn’t love me).

“We? So you guys are… Sergio, I told you I was sorry and I meant it. Can I see you before the game? Please? What are you doing for lunch today? We can go to Dinner or something.”

_This is what you wanted, isn’t it Sergio?_ Sergio groaned as his thoughts flooded through his mind.  _You wanted to make Fernando jealous and now you’ve done so successfully. Congratulations but why the hell do you still feel like shit? I had plans with Cristiano, though. We were going to go to the Elizabeth Tower. That’s too bad…_ “Well, actually, Cris and I were going to go to the…” Sergio stopped as he saw the tears began to fall from Cristiano’s eyes. “Cris?”

“Oh shit,” Cristiano gasped as soon as he realized that he was crying, “It’s no big deal. Just ignore me. Go Sergio,” Cristiano whispered from beneath him as he pulled himself up to a sitting position and reached over to grab a tissue off of the end table. He sighed in frustration as he saw Sergio making no indications of movement, eyes still fixed on him. “It’s what you came here for, after all, Sergio. Besides, I can catch up with Mourinho or see that stupid fucking clock by myself. Go, have fun and… I don’t know. Just go, Sergio.” His words were weak and his spirit was a bit broken but the connotation was sincere.

“I’m sorry Fernando, I can’t.” Sergio whispered into the phone, eyes still trained on Cristiano’s straying tears. “I’m not feeling up to par today, I have something of a cold. Definitely tomorrow though, okay? Talk to you then.” As soon as Sergio ended the call, he found his fingers wiping away all of the straying salt water off of Cristiano’s face. “What’s the matter, Cris?”

“I told you I’m fine, Sergio. Go do lunch with Fernando, that’s why you’re here.” Cristiano tried, though he sensed he’d fail the second he started speaking. He tried to push Sergio off of him and tried to encourage the other man to call Fernando back to no avail. “Sergio, just…”

“Look, Cristiano. I, uh, I kind of lied. I mean, when I had first came up with the idea to come to London it was to get Fernando back for sleeping with Jose…” Sergio pressed his forehead back down against the broad pectorals of the older man, searching for the words he was supposed to say – not the ones he wanted to say but not the lies he’d become accustomed to saying. “I didn’t expect what happened on the plane to happen and… I was going to call him as soon as we had landed but I changed my mind. I figured we could spend some time together, as friends of course.” Sergio rushed out the last part for fear of giving himself away and closed his eyes tightly, still avoiding Cristiano’s curious gaze. “I’ve done so much wrong and I… Cris, why are you crying?” Sergio lifted his head back up to where he could see Cristiano’s tear stained cheeks.

Cristiano simply shrugged and handed his phone over to where Sergio could listen to the voicemails. Sergio decided against listening to the messages as they were between Iker and Cristiano, and listened to the blubbering of the forward instead. “I know it’s probably not a big deal but I just needed to hear him say it. Without me asking, without a reason for him to say it. I just needed to hear…”

“I love you.”

* * *

 Steven sighed as he listened to Xabi lecturing him over who Guy’s A thru D were with a soft smile playing on his lips. In truth, he knew that Guy A was the asshole number nine he’d be playing against the next day and that Guy B was a one Sergio Ramos while Guy C was the distraught Cristiano while Guy D came in the form of the legendary Iker Casillas. Instead, he’d spent the past half hour playing dumb just to hear Xabi’s voice a little longer. “So let me get this straight. I’m A and you’re B but you’re banging C to get me jealous and D is upset because D wants B banging C… No, he doesn’t want B banging C, D wants to be banging C. I don’t get it. Why can’t A and B get to together and do lunch on Sunday while D fucks C’s brains out? Everybody wins. So, Sunday, where are we going?”

* * *

A heart stopped beating and the earth stopped spinning, within that moment just for them. Time stood still, the hands of the Elizabeth Tower remained frozen, yet no one seemed to mind. For a moment, he thought that he had made the whole thing up, simply materialized what he had been dying to hear. Yet, the way his own breathing had hitched and the way his senses jolted told him the words were his to find, that those words had been intended for his ears – his heart. “What did you say, Sergio?” Though the context of those words were something his heart assured him he had heard for a fact. He knew what he had heard but for them to surface amongst all of the denial was baffling. “I thought you said you didn’t... I don’t understand why you’re saying… Tell me, Sergio, right now.” Cristiano was choking on his tears but he needed to hear the truth. “Do you love me or don’t you?”

_No more lies,_ Sergio had told himself a countless number of times. _Hurt him no more,_ he had vowed to himself. “Cris, I was just saying that it was what you wanted to hear. I was just… You said that you needed to hear ‘I love you’ from Iker and I… I didn’t mean to mislead you in any way. It wasn’t my intent but if you’re asking me if I love you – I can’t, I can't... I shouldn't lie to you – you ask me if I love you and I have to, I have to say that I do, I am madly and deeply in love with you in a way that I can't... I don’t care if you love me back because, even if you did, I would refuse the prospect of anything more than friendship with you... You deserve so much better and after everything that I’ve put you through, I’ve used up all of my chances and any hopes of a healthy relationship with you are gone. Now, call Iker. Now.” Sergio finally pushed himself off of Cristiano and started walking towards the bathroom but shot Cristiano an admonishing look just before he left the room.

Cristiano wanted to protest, wanted to follow Sergio out of the room and yell at him for lying to him but Sergio had been so insistent and his tone of his voice hadn't wavered once from certainty. Instead, Sergio's firm tone kept him sitting on the bed, confused as ever, accepting that his life was nothing more than a cluster-fuck of emotions within the moment. Deciding that Sergio was right in that he did need to call Iker (the older man had always given him a sense of clarity when he was confused) he thumbed through the contacts in his his phone. He closed his eyes in an attempt to recompose himself and swiped his finger over Iker’s name, silently listening to the sound of the line ringing. He smiled in relief as he heard the sound of the Spaniard’s voice tunneling through from the other end. That relief faded quickly though.

“Damn it, Cris! Do you have any idea how concerned I was? I’ve called you so many times and…”

“Oh, so it’s okay for you to ignore my calls but when I do it, it’s the unforgivable sin? Fuck that, Iker! I needed to talk to you last night. Where the fuck were you, Iker?” Cristiano’s blood was boiling, primarily from the stress he had undergone within the past twenty four hours, but Iker was the one who had answered his phone in a confrontational manner. “Riddle me that, Iker!”

“I was with…”

“Xabi! I know, I received your damned voicemails.” Cristiano’s voice broke as he conveyed that the Spaniard’s messages had been received. “I heard fucking every word.” … _but I heard the words that weren’t said the most._

“Cristiano, you know I…”

“You what, Iker? You freak out when I miss your calls. You worry. You’re afraid of that happening again. I know all of that, Iker.” … _but I needed to know that you love me_. “I just, I can’t handle any of this shit right now, Iker.”

“I was just going to say that I love you, Cris.”

 


	28. Steven & Xabi: Perfectly Imperfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Perfect for each other doesn’t mean anything – perfection is overrated. It’s your imperfections that makes a relationship beautiful, mate. Xabi may have always pushed my buttons but he was the only one who could do me like that. We don’t want you to make the same mistake we did, Cristiano. We married the person we felt was perfect for us when we should’ve been looking for the one who was perfectly imperfect for us, do you understand? We all make mistakes, some larger than others, some more serious than others, but you’ve forgiven and now we can’t sit idly by and watch you make the mistake you will rue for the rest of your life. The same mistake we had made - that's ours, don't let it be yours, too, Ronny.”_

The game was over quicker than Cristiano would have liked though he was pleased with the result. Liverpool had won and had humiliated Sergio’s precious Fernando in the process, though he did feel an inkling of sympathy for Chelsea when he caught the look of frustration on Jose’s face. Cristiano wasn’t usually the jealous type – well, he was but he would never admit to such a thing – but to see the plausible target of Sergio’s affections eating dirt after a tackle gone wrong by one of his teammates, John Terry, was irrepressibly funny. He had managed to get Sergio to laugh alongside him a few of the times and had, as a result, found the depth of his confusion increasing and himself asking Sergio why he didn’t want to love him. He had spoken with Sergio enough before the game and had received a bit more insight into what it was that Sergio had meant when he had told him that he loved him but that it hadn’t mattered… it was Sergio's resolve against the whole emotion and notion of loving him that had left Cristiano baffled.

Sergio sighed as soon as the whispered question reached his ears and decided it best to allow the box to empty before he answered it. He nodded towards a few familiar faces before turning his attention back on Cristiano. “Cristiano, look at me. I love you with every fiber of my being, I may even be in love with you…but you could never be in love with me, Cristiano. I’m just a waste of time for you. I don’t want you to waste any more time asking yourself questions when the answers are right in front of you. I’ve seen the way you are with Iker, the way he is with you – you two are made from each other and I’d need to be ignorant to deny that. Alright? Let’s head down downstairs and say ‘hi’ to the guys down there. I did promise Fernando I’d explain everything to him, huh?”

Cristiano nodded though a part of him – a part he couldn’t quite identify – felt a little dead and lifeless. “Yeah, let’s go say ‘hi’ to Fernando and Jose.” He didn’t understand what was going on with him. He accepted everything that Sergio was saying, hell, he even agreed with it for the most part but the jealousy still coursed through him. Was he simply being selfish, wanting these two men – Iker and Sergio – all to himself or was there something more to all of it? “…and Sergio? Thank you for staying with me yesterday, in spite of all of this. I appreciate it.” Cristiano went to follow Sergio out of the booth but found his way blocked by a very familiar face. “Steven?”

Sergio stopped dead in his tracks and spun on his heels to face the Englishman. He was surprised to see Steven up here, he had expected Fernando but never in a million years Steven. “Hey, Steven. What are you doing up here? Cristiano and I were just heading down to the dressing rooms to catch up with Fernando and…”

“Go ahead, mate.” Steven interrupted him with a big, toothy grin. “You go on ahead, I need to talk to Cristiano for a bit anyway.” He informed the Spaniard as he gently shoved Cristiano back into the now vacated box. “I’ll send him down in as soon as we’re finished, okay? I promise, I won’t keep him up here for too long and no, Cristiano, this is not negotiable. Xabi is a bit worried about you and I cannot have that, can I?”

Sergio nodded towards the Englishman, completely unsure of what was going on but headed towards the elevators anyway. He wouldn’t have just left Cristiano with the Liverpool man had there not been history there and with Steven assuring Cristiano that he was there on behalf of Xabi he felt a bit more at ease with the change in the situation. He shoved in the button for the elevators, the one indicating ‘down’ and threw a glance over his shoulder, catching the confused look on Cristiano’s face just as the door closed.

* * *

 

“Ronny, it’s been a while, mate. I mean, I know we were never really close but that serves you right for kicking the ball over at Old Trafford.” Steven chuckled as he took the seat directly beside the Portuguese international. He nervously fidgeted with the zipper on his jacket as he mentally prepared himself for the conversation he was about to have. “I know things haven’t been going easy for you in Spain, off the pitch at least. I talked to Xabi, mate, and he’s really worried about you, told me a bit about your situation, and, if I’m being honest, I’m concerned as well. You should know that I’ve never talked to anyone about this before, never in my life, and this is far from easy for me to do but I’m doing it for you – and Xabi.”

Cristiano turned his body towards Steven to let the Englishman know that he was listening to him and nodded whilst expressing his appreciation. “I could use all of the help that I can get right now. I mean, it seems so obvious and I feel like I’m just making things difficult, you know? Sergio told me that he didn’t love me, multiple times, but I couldn’t handle that. He tried telling me that I belonged with Iker and that we were obviously made for one another but it doesn’t seem so easy – at least not for me. I kept pushing Sergio and eventually he cracked, told me that he did love me but that it would be a waste of time because he could never make me fall in love with him after everything we’d gone through. I just… I don’t know how the fuck I feel, Steven, so any advice is welcomed.”

Steven smiled into his lap just before turning to Cristiano and squeezing the younger man’s thigh reassuringly. “I was in a similar situation, well, it was similar with differences. I was in love when I had married Alex, just not with her.” Steven glanced over and found a surprised expression on the number seven’s face and chuckled a bit. “I had been in love with Xabi, madly in love with that Spanish bastard, since I had first laid eyes on him back in the 2004-05 season. Yeah, I know, shocking but it’s true and you need to hear this. I had never met anyone like him; he was shy and quiet, he completed me, he did. He didn’t always know what to say, he would lie to protect me, he would do everything wrong, but it was the fact was that he was doing something that had me blushing. We went through a lot together, a lot of bad and a lot of good but definitely more bad. I had been dating Alex but seeing Xabi behind her back, something we had both agreed on to keep the media off of our backs about our sexuality and whatnot, had kids with the woman and all that but Xabi and I… we were still constant. We got into a heated argument one day, I forget what it was about as you tend to when you love a person, but it resulted in me foolishly asking Alex to marry me. When I followed through with it, it devastated Xabi but he stuck by my side. I was in love with him, he was in love with me but we had told each other that it would never actually work. He told me that Alex and I were perfect for one another and I couldn’t deny it. When he started dating Nagore, I told him the same thing… Mind you, when he married her and moved off to that wretched Spanish club I was infuriated but that’s beside the point, Cristiano. What I’m telling you is this…” Steven grabbed Cristiano by the shoulder and looked deep with Cristiano’s soul. “Perfect for each other doesn’t mean anything – perfection is overrated. It’s your imperfections that makes a relationship beautiful, mate. Xabi may have always pushed my buttons but he was the only one who could do me like that. We don’t want you to make the same mistake we did, Cristiano. We married the person we felt was perfect for us when we should’ve been looking for the one who was perfectly imperfect for us, do you understand? We all make mistakes, some larger than others, some more serious than others, but you’ve forgiven and now we can’t sit idly by and watch you make the mistake you will rue for the rest of your life. The same mistake we had made - that's ours, don't let it be yours, too, Ronny.”

Cristiano bit his lip as he went over all of the new information he had just received, occasionally glancing at the man beside him with a newfound sense of respect. “I never knew about you and Xabi. I mean, that’s a lot of time together - all of those years... but they both love me. And I…”

“…am in love with just one.” Steven finished for him as he smiled out towards Stamford Bridge. “You already know who you’re in love with, that’s probably not even a question in your mind. You’re just scared so you’re clinging to your doubts and keeping all of your prospects close. I can guarantee you this, Ronny. Both Iker and Sergio are great men and either of them would understand your decision. Hell, Sergio’s already trying to let himself down for you and Iker, according to Xabi, is back in Spain preparing himself for that call. Xabi told me that the two of you had gotten into it yesterday, didn’t say much else, but Iker’s… Iker’s convinced you’re in love with Sergio and Sergio’s convinced you’re in love with Iker but you’re the only person who truly knows who you’re in love with. And Xabi, Xabi knows everything.” Steven chuckled.

“Old flames die hard,” Cristiano chuckled as Steven’s face reddened. "Xabi's taught you well, huh?"

“…and distance only makes the heart grow fonder. Isn’t that a fact, mate?” Steven shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair for a final time before rising to his feet. “Well, I’m off to get plastered, mate. We have a win to celebrate, you know? Come on, let’s get down there and celebrate, mate. Oh yeah, you’re headed for the Chelsea locker room. Give Mou a hug for me and then kick him in the balls, will ya’?”

* * *

 

Sergio had found Fernando quickly but was still waiting for the freckled Spaniard to finish getting dressed after his shower, so he just loafed around and chatted with Essien for a bit about the match. As Fernando threw on the first article of his clothing - a pair of jeans, he was rejoined by Cristiano who had simply shrugged when he had asked him what Steven had wanted. “So, he wanted to talk to you about nothing? That must’ve been entertaining,” Sergio chuckled as he playfully punched Cristiano in the arm. “Seriously, are you all right?”

Cristiano nodded as he threw his eyes around the room. “Yeah, I’m fine. Did Mourinho already yell at these guys? Where did he go? I need to…” He stopped and offered Essien a friendly smile as the man from Ghana approached him, flashing a full set of teeth.

“He’s back in the managerial room,” Essien answered as he threw an affectionate arm around the forward. “I’m glad you’re alright, man.” Essien mumbled as he ruffled the winger’s hair a bit. “I was really worried about you for a bit there. Hell, we all were. It’s good to see you out and about, though. Here, I’ll take you to Jose. I’m sure he wants to check on you and whatnot.” With Sergio’s blessing, Essien led Cristiano down the hallway and in through one of the doors. “Sir, you have a visitor.”

“Michael, you know I don’t… Cristiano! Tell me you’ve come to join my squad! Please, come in. Go, Mikey, I’m still disappointed in you!” Jose quickly stood up from his chair and pulled his laughing Portuguese compatriot into the room as he lightheartedly dismissed his number five. “I was told you were coming to London but I thought, ‘Cristiano to London? The man hates anywhere that isn’t in Northern England.’ Here you are, though. Now, Ramires has the number seven shirt but I can…”

“You know that’s not why I’m here, Jose.” Cristiano laughed as he sunk into the seat across from the manager. It had felt just like old times back at the Ciudad, sitting across from the older man, waiting to hear another inspiring speech. “You know I would never come to Stamford Bridge unless I’m sitting over on the visitor’s bench.” Cristiano allowed his eyes to wander around the room, getting a feel for the atmosphere. “I’m a bit uncomfortable being here now. I feel kind of like a traitor.”

“I’m glad you’re here, though, Cristiano.” Jose whispered as he rose from his chair and walked around his desk. He sat on the surface of it as he found himself directly in front of the younger athlete. “I was really worried about you. Especially with the news stories. I didn’t know what to believe and no one was giving me any sort of information. I was definitely concerned about the other Ronaldo.”

“Worried about me?” Cristiano asked playfully as he looked up at the silver haired man. “I watched your defender take out your striker. Shit looked pretty painful and let me tell you that was a pretty nasty game for any Chelsea supporter to watch. I’m worried about you. Are you doing alright? Do you need some wine or something? Scotch?”

Jose sighed and looked down at his hands, contemplating his answer. “Scotch should do just fine.” He chuckled out after a few moments of thought. “I’m just not so sure of anything anymore, Cristiano. When we’re in form, no problems but we’re hardly ever in form together. The media, they always talked but never this much. I can no longer just give these guys a motivational speech, that doesn’t work for them. I mean, I’m…”

“Sleeping with one of your strikers?” Cristiano finished for him as he shook his head disapprovingly. He tried to catch Jose’s eyes but the man was still staring at his own hands. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Jose? You shouldn’t have to fuck some motivation into your team, you’re a better manager than that. Bench the bastard and fuck the media. That’s your problem, you’re fucking the wrong people.”

“How did you…?”

“Sergio called Fernando while you were over at Fernando’s house and he told me that you and he were… fucking and whatnot. What the hell is wrong with you, Jose? You are talented man who’s revolutionized the role of the manager. You are just as talented as those players on the field, you don’t need to get into bed with them to get through to them. You are more than capable of…”

 Jose smiled as he finally pulled his eyes off of the floor. It had been a while since anyone had spoken to him in such a manner but he knew he could always rely on Cristiano to give it to him straight. “Cristiano, sometimes I think you’re the only person left on this earth who has any sort of faith left in me.” Jose leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against those of the younger man, both thanking him and assuring him that he would do better in that one action. “Now tell me, what am I capable of?”

Cristiano smiled as the memory came rushing back to him and found himself shyly averting his attention to the floor before glancing back into the eyes of the older Portuguese man. “What aren’t you capable of?” That’s what they were and all they ever needed to be for one another. It was never about lust nor love – they had merely appreciated one another for all they were and all they knew they’d become.

* * *

 

Fernando quickly pulled his shirt over his head and groaned as he made his way over to where Sergio was waiting, laughing with Peter Cech about an awkward save he had made during the game. He legs still hurt from that tackle John had made on him and he swore that his ankle had nearly been torn off at some point in time within the game.

“I swear, I told Cristiano that you looked possessed I mean, your head seemed to do a three hundred-sixty degree turn. It was in… Oh, hey Fernando! I’ll catch up with you later, Peter.” Sergio gave Peter a parting smile before turning back towards Fernando. “You finally ready?”

Fernando nodded but grabbed at Sergio’s arm before he could get too far ahead of him in the hallway. “Yeah but, before we go, do you have a minute? Just you? I think we should definitely talk.” It had bothered him all night, knowing that Sergio was somewhere in London, sharing a bed [and possibly more] with somebody else. Sergio had shut off his phone directly after their conversation and the sound of Sergio’s voicemail hadn’t done much to ease his troubled mind. “I told you I was sorry about the thing with Jose. I swear to you, look at me Sergio, I promise it will never happen again. I love you, Sergio, and just the thought of you being with Cristiano… It’s revolting.”

Sergio couldn’t explain why the thoughts had formulated in his head and if you had asked him why he had voiced them, he would’ve probably told you that he had said those things ‘because [he’s] an impulsive idiot’. “Fernando, you’ve always been jealous of Cristiano, with or without me. You hated the fact that I had even mentioned his name, before all of this Fernando. You don’t, you don’t have the right to dictate who I spend my time with and you need know that.  And Cristiano is, Cris is a better man than you or I will ever be so don't you, don't you ever... Let’s get this straight, now: this thing, us, we will not be like we were before.”

“I understand that completely, Sergio.” Fernando whispered as he wrapped Sergio into his arms in a warm embrace, grateful to be holding the Sevillan again despite his outburst of protectiveness over the other man. “I missed you.”

* * *

 

Cristiano stopped in his tracks in the hallway, smiling at the two Spaniards before him. It was that easy, wasn’t it?

 


	29. Epilogue I: No More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In truth, his nerves made him hungry. He had seen the look in Cristiano's eyes during the ceremony. His sights had been distant yet present, his tears had been in the moment yet in the future, Xabi and Steven's words for one another yet Cristiano had found himself able to relate. It was the look he had been waiting for over the past two years_

“I vow to hold you close and I promise to never let you go again. I promise to love and care for you, and I will try in every way to be worthy of your love. I’ve put you through a lot since the beginning, I’ve asked so much of you from the start, but I promise you now – all I ask is that you love me in return. I vow to be your partner, both on and off the pitch, your partner in life and love, your partner in the pursuit of happiness. I vow to always believe in you and the person you will surely grow to be – as well as the couple we will be together. I vow to be faithful and supportive of you, in sickness and in health, in failure and triumph… I vow to dream with you and walk with you through whatever challenges our lives may throw before us. Most of all, most of all I vow to love you with all of the strength and fierce passion coursing through my veins for the entirety of my days and beyond.”

Cristiano sniffled and wiped away at his straying tears and did his best to regain his composure. He was an emotional wreck but this, this was true and pure. He straightened out his tux and squared his shoulders, smiling reassuringly at the man in front of him.

“I vow to hurt you no more and I promise to lie only when absolutely necessary – he’s a hard man to convince, you know? I vow to cherish and love you with all of the audacity within my being. I will never be worthy nor deserving of the love of a man like you but I promise to live each day of the rest of my life trying to prove otherwise to you. I promise you that we will fight and I can assure that there will be tears but I vow to you that we will always overcome them and I vow that I will always be there to catch your tears. I promise to readily take the good with the bad though I vow to do my best to turn the bad into a good. I dared myself today to accept the challenge of making you fall in love with me every day for the rest of our lives and now I am promising this to you: I will wake up every morning with the sole intention of tripping you and making you fall in love with me.”

Iker pressed his lips together tightly and allowed his own tears to flow freely down his cheeks but couldn’t keep his eyes trained on the sky for too long. There was so much beauty here, in front of him and he didn’t want to look away.

“By the power vested in me by our most sovereign ruler, I now pronounce you married, combined as one before the eyes of God in holy matrimony. You may now… Yes.”

Sergio smiled at the men kissing before him. It had been a long two years but he knew that these two would make it here, somehow, someway. He reached forward and squeezed Cristiano’s shoulder, well aware that the Portuguese international was in tears. “Two people – so beautiful together.”

Cristiano nodded and closed his eyes, allowing the memories of two years ago wash over him...

> _Iker nervously paced around the living room, trying to figure out what it was he was so nervous about. He had been relieved when he had received the call from Cristiano assuring him that he and Sergio had decided to cut their trip short, that Cris would be back in Spain in time for dinner. Perhaps it was anticipation or perhaps it was that unsettling feeling in his gut… He had been having thoughts and realizations in the short period of time that Cristiano had been in London but he still wasn’t sure of how he felt about them himself. He had even vomited as he heard the car pull into the drive. “Here we go,” he whispered to himself just as the front door swung open._
> 
> _Cristiano walked directly into Iker’s arms and squeezed him with all of the strength he could muster. “Iker,” Cristiano voiced, sounding so sure of himself, though he was anything but sure. “I’m moving out. I just need some time to myself, you know? I need to think and I don’t, I don’t want to make a rash decision you know. I can’t be like Steven and Xabi.”_
> 
> _Iker nodded, understanding him completely. “I know. Xabi came by and helped me pack your things. Do you need help moving them?” Iker smiled up at the Portuguese man, loving the person who was in front of him and wondering when Cristiano had regained his sense of self. “I know you’re going to make the right decision for you and no one else. I trust you and I’m sure Sergio does, as well.”_
> 
> _Cristiano nodded and thought back to what he had seen in the hallways of the Stamford Bridge. “I know he does and I know you do. I’m just so grateful for the two of you, I can’t even… but this is going to be good. Figured I could get back to training and my routine, see how things fall into place after that…?”_
> 
> _Iker nodded and squeezed Cristiano’s bicep, proud of the man before him. “It sounds like you’ve got everything figured out then. Here, I’ll help you with your things and… Where’s Sergio? He needs to get his ass in here and help.”_
> 
> _Cristiano chuckled as he started back for the door, “I’ll get him out of the car. Neither of us had expected you to take my decision to move out so lightly.”_
> 
> _“I trust you, Cristiano.”_

Cristiano smiled at the memory, recalling all of the laughs they had shared while packing his things. Sergio had even taken his journal and had ran into the bathroom with Iker and was quite vocal in reading it. Of course, Sergio and Iker had decided to flush the depressing entries down the toilet but he still loved the memory all the same. Later that night, in the peace of his own home, he began writing again. Starting with his confusion and what he had witnessed in England those years ago...

> _“Fernando, you’ve always been jealous of Cristiano, with or without me. You hated the fact that I had even mentioned his name, before all of this Fernando. You don’t, you don’t have the right to dictate who I spend my time with and you need know that.  And Cristiano is, Cris is a better man than you or I will ever be so don't you, don't you ever... Let’s get this straight, now: this thing, us, we will not be like we were before.”_
> 
> _“I understand that completely, Sergio.” Fernando whispered as he wrapped Sergio into his arms in a warm embrace, grateful to be holding the Sevillan again despite his outburst of protectiveness over the other man. “I missed you.”_
> 
> _Sergio didn’t know what it was but something inside of him didn’t feel right. This didn’t feel right anymore. “Fernando, I can’t lie to you. I missed this too but… I don’t. Not anymore at least. I’m not the same person anymore, Fernando. I’ve changed and I’ve grown, I’ve learned a lot about myself and shit… I can’t do this anymore, Fernando. I’m not, I’m not in love with you anymore. This, we, died and I don’t, I don’t think that we’re ever going to get that flame back. I’m sorry, Fernando. Maybe I’m crazy and I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about? I just need… I need some time to think. Okay?”_
> 
> _Fernando nodded, completely understanding what Sergio was telling him, and pulled the Sevillan in for another warm embrace. “Time.”_

“Hey, Cristiano!” Cristiano snapped out of his thoughts and willed away the memories as he looked over towards Iker who was waving his hand in front of his face. “Are you going to the reception?”

“I still can’t believe they did it,” Cristiano whispered back to the Spaniard, completely awestruck. It was a beautiful ceremony and the connection between groom and groom was surreal. He could feel the love between them from where he stood behind them, either that or it was the weight of his decision in full effect. “They were perfectly imperfect for each other, that's what they said. They gave up everything and now they’re…”

“Happy together.” Sergio finished for him as he joined the two men. “I still can’t believe I was the last to know about those two.” He chuckled as he adjusted his suit. He hadn't found out about Steven and Xabi until a year ago and, even then, he thought it was something new. He had just found out that day that Steven and Xabi had gone back a total of eleven, beautiful years.

“Steven and Xabi?” Iker chuckled back at him. “I knew from day one of that relationship. Come on, let's go eat! I'm starving. This lovey dovey type shit always makes me hungry.” In truth, his nerves made him hungry. He had seen the look in Cristiano's eyes during the ceremony. His sights had been distant yet present, his tears had been in the moment yet in the future, Xabi and Steven's words for one another yet Cristiano had found himself able to relate. It was the look he had been waiting for over the past two years. Cris had finally made his decision and knew who it was that he was in love with...

 


	30. Epilogue II: Old Flames

It was a beautiful reception and everyone who had ever cared about them had been there, even Nagore and Alex had made an appearance and genuinely smiled throughout the duration of the ceremony. It had been a long two years but they had both realized how miserable they were without one another, without the constant assurance the he would be there waiting for him when he got home after a long day at the office. Their wives had been shocked when they both decided to come together to tell them about what was resurfacing between them but their wives shock had faded after the first year. Nagore had told Xabi that she was happy he was following his heart while Alex had told Steven that she had always known that something was going on between the two of them. Everything was civil: the divorces went as smooth as the media allowed it and the custody arrangements were made in such a way that their children were actually thrilled about what was happening between their mommy and daddy - they'd be having two daddies and their mommy. Neither Xabi nor Steven could’ve asked for more.

Xabi listened quietly, mesmerized by the enchanting laughter of his closest friends and family members. Today was perfect: the services, though the blubbering of Steven’s aunt had nearly stifled the words of the preacher, the arrangements, though he had clearly said ‘no flowers’ though flowers had littered the aisle anyway, the absence of the eye of the media, though he swore he had seen one of his uncles tweeting a picture of the ceremony. Yes, today was perfectly imperfect and he wouldn’t have changed a single detail of it if he could have. Xabi turned to the laughing Englishman, smiling at the memory of the very first time they had met – nearly eleven years ago. “I can’t believe you are here, with me.” He whispered, still in a state of disbelief.

Steven chuckled as the Basque man’s words reached his ears and turned to face his husband with an endearing look in his eyes. “I was just grateful that I wasn’t met at the entrance by security.” He laughed out though he was partly serious about the fear. “I kept having this nightmare that you had changed your mind and that you had run off back to Spain…” Steven sighed as he looked down at the wedding ban wrapped around his finger. “Rest assured, I’d of gone after you this time. I’m not going to let you get away from me ever again.” He glanced over at the man beside him and pointed to the ring on his finger. “That’s your ball and chain, love.”

Xabi smiled as he leaned into the Englishman and gently brushed his lips against those of Steven’s. “Now, I thought you were supposed to be making me fall in love with you every day, now? Perhaps I should run off just to see if you’d chase me. It’d be like one of those romantic comedies, you know?” Xabi bit his lip nervously as he looked around the room, loving all of the smiling faces and the overall lighthearted feeling of the atmosphere. “Maybe we’ve already had our movie, though, and this is our fairytale ending?”

“My dear, Xabi. As sweet as you are, tell me, love. Do you really think they’d let me star in a romantic comedy as the helpless romantic? I mean, I’d chase you but I’m fairly certain it wouldn’t play out as smoothly as it does in the movies, you know? I would probably throw you in a bag and drag you back to England, get arrested for abduction, spend the rest of my life in prison, and find love with cellmate name Jimmy. It never goes so smoothly with us, I tend to complicate things to the extent that it takes me eleven years to get the girl… well, guy in our case.” Steven chuckled as he pressed his lips against Xabi’s forehead. It was true and he hated himself for it but, at the same time, he knew it was one of the things that Xabi loved about him. “So please, don’t run off to England, for Jimmy’s sake. He wouldn’t be able to handle all of this, I’m too much man for him.”

“You’re right, if our life was a romantic comedy, you’d be the drunk guy at the bar who makes the leading male realize what an asshole he’s been.” Xabi laughed out as Steven went to protest, beer in hand. “The guy realizes what his life could be like – like yours – if he doesn’t fix things now and off he goes. Off to whatever country for whatever higher purpose.” Xabi looked over to where Steven had gone red faced as the Englishman attempted [in vain] to stifle his giggles. “Oh goodness, no…”

“You married the drunk at the bar, not even the helpless romantic you costar with. Where did you go wrong, Xabi? I’ll tell you, it was that day you showed up at Melwood, that’s where it all went downhill for you, love. Tell me, how do you feel, Xabi?” Steven laughed out, incapable of containing his amusement when Xabi went wide eyed and dropped his mouth in realization. “You took home the extra at the bar, my love!”

“Cheated,” Xabi whispered as he threw his head back in a fit of laughter. “Absolutely cheated.” After a few moments of light hearted laughter he refocused on this, this moment. “Life is more beautiful without a script, though, Steven. Maybe I cheated the director.” He raised his eyebrows and lifted his chin as he voiced his alternate. “The script is boring and so predictable so why wouldn’t I marry the drunk at the bar?”

“Well, I’m at least the knowledgeable drunk in the bar.” Steven offered as he began to calm himself, sights set on the table of their groomsmen before them. They were all smiling but one smile was a little brighter than the others. They were all drinking but three of them were drinking to love. One was smiling in understanding, condoning whatever it was the other was saying, another was wiping away his tears, moved by whatever the one in between himself and the understanding one had said. The one speaking in between them though, he reminded Steven of himself when he had first saw Xabi walking through Melwood. “I mean, I must’ve said something that helped that damsel in distress, huh?”

Xabi immediately straightened himself out and followed Steven’s gaze and found his eyes on Cristiano. Cristiano was smiling and blushing as he fixed his eyes on the man beside him and listened closely as he spoke to the group. Xabi could see under the table where Cristiano had his hand resting lightly against the thigh of the man next to him. “Steven, Cristiano is no damsel in distress, not anymore at least.” Xabi watched as Cristiano’s thumb gently rubbed back and forth, back and forth against that other man’s trousers. He seemed so content with himself, with his decision. The other man reached down and entwined his fingers with Cristiano’s, bringing the Portuguese man’s hand to his face as he lightly kissed it. “I suppose you did. It only took him two years but… He seems happy, doesn’t he?”

“It could’ve taken him eleven but I’m sure he would’ve loved him all the same, if not then definitely more. They say old flames die hard,” Steven whispered as he looked deep into Xabi’s eyes, “but the truth is that they never really die.”

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [760 Days](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2697860) by [facade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/facade/pseuds/facade)




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